The City in Pieces II
by WerewolfObsession
Summary: After Joker's rein of Gotham is terminated, eight years of progress leads Bane and his Lieutenant to Gotham to finally fulfill Ra's al Ghul's destiny. Sequel to City in Pieces. Bane x Chance. Rated M for Explicit and graphic scenes and language.
1. After All These Years

Author's Note: Readers, this is the second installment of the City in Pieces; this is also the third installment of Chance Bremly (AKA the Lieutenant)'s adventures. I've gotten many kind and generous reviews from the first story that circled around Chance's journey from being a needy, greedy thief to becoming something more. Because the last installment ended with the Joker's reign of Gotham, this is circling Bane's 'chance' on the city, and he will bring the city to pieces. I hope you enjoy this one as much as all of you have enjoyed the first. As usual, this is going to be rated as M for sexual content (and most likely sexual misconduct), gore, language, and any use of the Mature rating that you can think of because I can't. I would appreciate the reviews, guest and users.

Anyway, let the games begin.

The City in Pieces II

Chapter One: After All These Years

Chance Bremly had once considered trying to convince her old friend and ally, Ace Leswaae to join the League of Shadows. However, it raised several complications. The League was born under the rule that it would be used as a weapon to exact vengeance on those who deserved it; Ace, though kind and loyal as an ally, was only a monster under all those clothes and that hair. The League of Shadows trained the lost and the more deserving of the world's lowest instincts to become great in themselves; Ace was a better fighter, but she lacked the discipline to follow any rules. The League of Shadows worked as a unity; Ace couldn't be controlled by anyone. She was a loose dog without a collar, rabid and blood thirsty. Chance felt compassion for her, despite their unkindly past that had taken its toll before she was reunited with Ace. Once, Ace had tried to murder her, and would have succeeded, had Bane not been led astray by a lie from one of Chance's trusted men. Chance wanted everything for her dear friend: freedom, truth, a place in the world that was led by corrupt bureaucrats and lawlessness, but Ace made her own luck through her many murders.

Some people, Chance had realized, couldn't be helped. Ace was proof of this. Even after the Joker, Prince of Crime, was arrested, pushed into a van, and sent off to Arkham; Ace's mind could only set on him. Had Chance not intervened, Ace would have pitched herself off the Prewitt building in order to rejoin her clown prince on concrete, but Batman had saved Joker, despite the year's events of him trying to kill the caped crusader. Ace, even after Joker's apprehension, could not rid of him. He was embroidered into her life like a patch onto a fine quilt, something so easy…so simple, and it drove Chance's best mate to madness.

Such unrequited love could kill a woman inside, though Chance was sure that Joker was being driven insane in the madhouse as well; his weakness, after all, had been the one woman who truly accepted his own insane qualities: without her, he wasn't entirely gone, but he was less amusing.

After Joker's rein on Gotham, two years later, when Chance turned thirty-years-old, she was under the impression that Dr. Leonide Pavel understood their agreement. He would make the reactor below Applied Sciences a bomb, though he would be unaware of the true nature of it. The reactor was actually particle of the Clean Energy Project that Gotham's wealthy investor, Miranda Tate, was using in order to provide the city with clean water and fresh air. Only to the League of Shadows was the executive board member known as Ra's al Ghul's only child and heiress to the League of Shadows, Talia. Chance Bremly, under the notion that Pavel deserved compassion for the loss of his wife (Bane's doing) and his eldest son (Chance's doing), released him from his prison in Bulgaria. To her dismay and fury, Pavel left the country and informed America's CIA and CTU that two mercenaries named Bane, 'a masked man', and the world-renown 'Lieutenant' were in Bulgaria, and informed the government that his scientific papers exposed him to the nature that he could provide the world with one atomic bomb, were it to be forced upon him to make one. The CIA introduced the Task Force to search for the two terrorists on a world-wide basis, international and domestic, but Bane and Chance had escaped 24-hour observation, evacuating into East Europe to search for the turncoat.

A year later, Ace Leswaae, driven to the point of desperation to free her lover from Arkham Asylum, constructed a bomb out of oil and concrete and engaged it to the walls of the criminally insane hospital. Gordon, Harvey Bullock, Stephens, and Murphy, who all had been tracking the mass murderer for three years, apprehended her before she could detonate the bomb. Ace was wounded in the leg to negate escape, and as Gordon handcuffed her, she flew into a mad rage, declaring to any God that would listen that she'd choose death over a cage. To her unfortunate dismay, her sentence was not that light. Chance was given word from one of Maroni's former thugs that Ace was charged for the murders of over 50 men, 20 women, and 12 children in the first degree; 90 trespassing, breaking-and-entering; 32 kidnappings; 92 cases of torture; 40 burglaries; 900 muggings; and 1,246 counts of obstructions to justice. Ace was to serve 3 life sentences; after that, she would serve 7 death penalties. Ace was sent to Black Gate Prison, the only female inmate there, placed in solitary confinement with white walls and floors. Chance received mail from her every week, but the envelopes piled up. No longer bearing to be able to read the words of despair, broken-hearted, and furious words from Ace Leswaae without wanting to kill the warden, Chance stopped reading them.

Three more years passed. In Gotham, there were burglaries and thefts that didn't involve Chance and the news finally uncovered that the culprit was a new girl next door, called Catwoman, but her real name was Selina Kyle. Sleek, slim, and skilled in stealth, the mischievous cat burglar was never caught; the jewel thief, as in her modus operandi, stole from the namely rich to the untimely poor. Because of her deeds, Chance never pressed the matter. When the situation called for itself that one of the agents of shadow wanted to capture her, Bane ordered that no one would try to kill Catwoman. She posed no threat, though Miss Kyle gave John Daggett some trouble.

Another three years passed, and the fire started to rise from sparks to smoke when, whilst Chance and Bane were searching for the nuclear physicist in Western Romania, long-term businessman contacted Chance via webcam, and finally requested the said favor that Bane had long told Chance that he would come to speak. Since Bane was running the operation at the time, it was to Chance that Daggett spoke, and although he did not favor that he spoke to the second-in-command, it was all the same. Daggett, finally recuperating from the death threat that had been inflicted on his now executive chairman, Phillip Stryver, requested politely that Bane would sink Bruce Wayne's riches to his accounts, thereby rendering Wayne Enterprises to Daggett Industries. Chance promised to keep in regular contact with him, and then informed Bane of the request. Without delay, Bane accepted the proposal. As the plan proceeded as expected, Daggett, in return for their agreement, provided Gotham's workers with concrete and oil from his industrialized oil company, unknown to him that his products were being used as mixtures for bombs. It had been Ace that had taught Chance to produce such an easy mixture, and Chance had passed it to Bane as a conversation over pillow talk. Although Daggett met the Lieutenant with little fondness, he didn't cross her that time. Chance was still being trained more furious martial arts and resourcefulness that by the standards of most dangerous women of Gotham, Chance's ferocity, skill, and mind were sharpened enough to outmatch Ace as the deadliest killer female fatale.

Eight long years had passed. In those eight years, Talia al Ghul and Chance redeemed friendship as comrades-in-arms. It took about three years for Talia to finally convince her that she and Bane were only platonically suited for each other. Their love was on a median level, one caring for another, while Chance's admiration and affections bordered on that of a captain who had fallen irreparably in love with her general. Talia, whatsoever, did not take away anything from Chance. She was Bane's lighter side in life, the half that never existed when Bane was languishing in Hell on Earth, nor when he was excommunicated from the League for being the remembrance of Talia's mother's fate. Talia's efforts in Gotham perceived her to be well-respected in the city as good woman who wanted the best for her country. This led her to be disliked by Daggett, who wanted the throne for riches to far more wealth, while Miranda Tate wanted the throne of Wayne Enterprises to be something of a reward. Daggett went unaware of Miranda's true identity.

Gotham's prince, Bruce Wayne, became a recluse among the insects, hidden in his manor. Coincidentally enough, Batman vanished after the people resolved their hatred to him when they discovered that Batman was Harvey Dent's murderer, though to anyone except Gordon, Wayne, and the death sight of Rachel Dawes, Harvey merely fell. The people, as Joker predicted, turned on Batman, naming him a criminal like Crane.

The Dent Act was put into power, under the influence that the fallen hero, the District Attorney and white knight of Gotham, stood against the corrupt. It denied probation and bail for any criminal that would be named an ungodly creature, sent to Black Gate, and never to be released. Ace's measures suffered through this policy. The Dent Act was made on Dent Day, celebrating the death of Harvey, and out of the sheer respect and three years that Chance worked by his side before she met Bane, she attended in secrecy, honoring her deceased comrade.

Commissioner Gordon's years were stacking. Twenty-eight years had been put into his career in law enforcement, but his hope for humanity was being burned by a policy he introduced that was wrapped around a lie. He would have only a few more years to work before either the mayor would can him or he could retire.

Gotham's police department was aware that although Chance was this highly-evolved creature, reformed from the ashes of despair and loss that she had been seventeen years ago, they couldn't touch her. Flanked by body guards, Chance's security was a strong hold. Dangerous at any angle, the officers didn't dare touch her, in fear that the man she worked for would discover her missing, and he would come for her rescue. Chance attended a bar, ran by her main man Barsad, one of Bane's recruited, trained, and trusted men.

After the hard incident with Lick, a man who had the potential of being someone great, but turned when he discovered that his efforts were to help Chance's friend, Ace, Chance digressed. Barsad, a good-looking and obedient man, offered his life to her, should something happen and she pick one of her men to die. Out of his courage to fall for his League, Chance chose him.

Gotham was surviving its second blow from the underworld. It had faced panic from Ra's al Ghul and Crane, avoiding a dangerous toxin extracted from a rare flower from the mountains. It had resisted unrest when Joker flanked the city with bomb-infested ferry boats and hospital burn-outs. Now it would face something far more dangerous and larger than anyone anticipated.

Even as Bruce Wayne lived his sheltered life in is manor, as Selina Kyle broke into a jewelry shop, and as Gordon arrested criminals from the streets, Bane and Chance had only just begun.


	2. New and Improved

Author's Note: I hope I covered all the holes in Dark Knight Rises for those who have only seen the movie once or twice. I read the book that follows it and it cleared a few things for me. Hopefully, I've done that for those who were a little lost when it came to the 'reactor core'. To my recent reviews of City in Pieces, I realize that the last story, after twenty chapters or so, circled around Joker, but this will circle around Bane. Ace fans, I guarantee you that you will read more of her as time passes. Joker fans, no Joker in this. Crane fans, he'll be coming up soon as you know. Bane's girls, enjoy the fanfiction. ;)

City in Pieces II

Chapter Two: New and Improved

Gotham's sewers remained untouched by the raids. The GCPD has no qualms with the water lines since Killer Croc was delivered to the police on a stretcher, broken and beaten by a rogue, though Croc never named him. Evidently, Bane remained unidentified. The man hole that led into the sewers remained covered. Leaving the premise through such a frontal entrance would attract unwanted attention from watching eyes. Eight years had passed, and not a single word was delivered by Chance Bremly. Once more, the tension around Gotham grew steadily. Chance Bremly was well-known for launching full-scale attacks. Remaining dormant for several years had a time had shown that history repeated itself: such a wait included a master plan. The first time that she disappeared, she had been helping Jonathan Crane introduce to Gotham the fear gas. Chance came back with a bang Two-Face, Ace, Joker, and Chance had created a foursome of crime and unleashed their rampage onto Gotham's banks. Chance's cooperation with Joker and Ace had been the third occurrence. The evidence was there: eight years had come and gone, and now the people were expecting something spectacular.

Papers were scattered about the sewer floors, headlines read the suspicion that Batman had fled the nest and that Chance Bremly, known in Gotham as being called the 'Lieutenant', was absent for too long as needed. The _Gotham News_ anticipated that Chance was devising a scheme, so great in fact, that it would leave the city staggering. In lighter news, articles contradicted the apparent doom, considering the Dent Act and those who loved Harvey Dent, commemorating the death of Rachel Dawes—who at the time as Harvey's great love—created a standard that criminals stood not a chance against Gotham.

John Daggett's funds and resources further improved the headquarters, the ad hoc command center. The technology was enhanced. Monitors zoomed in and out around Gotham's tight corners and within alley ways, changing color to adapt to the light of day and darkness of night. Infrared cameras were installed above the old, out-dated equipment, perfecting a loose system. Equally perfected, the weaponry improved power, bullet capacity, and rapid fire compacted into light-weight firearms. The walkways through each of the barracks were railed and secured; chains fell from the highest peak to the bottom of the well for easy transport and quick getaway. Oil drums were supplied on a weekly basis, empty and ready for use. Daggett's shady business deals paid handsomely, delivering a bountiful check that was set in Chance's palm every week when she visited.

On a weekend furlough for a summer's break, Talia al Ghul was escorted through tunnels to achieve access to the greatness that were the Gotham sewers. Since her last visit, the entrances were sealed: one way in, one way out. Talia—dressed in a form-fitting pant suit, hair pulled up in a bun, and her face untouched by age—entered the ad hoc center to gaze at the monitors. Her pretty eyes fell to the screens with interest, but her thoughts were disrupted when she heard distressed cries from the training room. The men standing in the room with her, dressed in military fatigues, appeared unconcerned, standing by for further orders. Talia walked pass them; they gave their respectful bows as she walked by them. Crossing a walkway, gazing down below at the rushing water with slight fascination, and then standing in front of the door momentarily, Talia could hear a female's hard grunts. Listening carefully, Talia noted a man's voice. She knew who was in there before she opened the door.

The appearance before her was as she had expected. Circling in the middle of the floor, dripping with sweat, but still remaining a balanced feat, Chance Bremly, thirty and strong as oxen, held up gloved hands to her trainer, Bane. A few beads of sweat fell down his neck and slipped down his shirt, a black tank top that revealed his muscles, tattoos, and ferocity. His eyes were blazing. Talia noted Chance's sports bra and her camouflage trousers. Her hair, now a long, dark-blonde tail, was pulled up several times in a tight bun. Her recognizable blue eyes stared straight into Bane's face, calculating and watching.

Years of training were not wasted on her. Her feet side-stepped, never crossing each other. She had light steps. Carefully, she was making sure that Bane couldn't easily trip her. Bane held his hands up in front of her, palms up—This was her training exercise, not a test. Bane's eyes took note of Chance's movements, pleased. Her scars were fading; her muscles were strengthening, and those brilliant eyes watched him with feverish intensity.

Sweat beaded down Chance's face. Her hair was frizzing out of place. Her biceps flexed readily. Talia watched, leaning from the door frame. It was a fascination to watch the two of them train. In a way, they were equally matched. Talia admired the way Bane had put years into her, and she succeeded. Despite the pain he had caused her, the bones he had broken, the blood that had been shed, Chance Bremly was one, if not the best, soldiers Bane had in his army. In a parallel universe, Chance _was_ Bane.

Bane nodded his cue to her for her to give him another round. She gritted her teeth. Talia watched Chance inhale deeply. Her fists went flailing at Bane's palms with some speed that Talia hadn't seen her perform in a while. She was a machine. Bane didn't so much as flinch as she whaled on his open hands, though Talia could tell that he was far from being disappointed at her performance. Her forceful jabs sounded with angry _whacks_ to his flesh. Then Bane closed one of his hands, balled it into a fist, and gave Chance a painful punch in her jawline. Talia jumped slightly. Chance gasped, uttering something in a pained manner, and hit the floor, landing on her back. Blood eased out of the corner of her mouth.

Bane stepped over her body. From the distance, he was giant, perched over such a fragile body. Chance licked the blood off her lip, raising a hand to her mouth to wipe what her tongue hadn't caught. She cracked her jaw bone with her own mandible, popping back into place. Bane's brown eyes watched her from behind his mask. Chance took the ground with her strong hands and slid away from him. She was on her feet in a minute. Swaying only slightly, Chance approached Bane once more.

"You fight like a man," said Talia from the door way.

As if on cue, Chance tightened a fist and sent it into Bane's cheek. He was stunned. Chance jumped onto his chest, wrapped an elbow around his neck, and she pulled; her legs enclosed around his sweaty middle. Her head was on his shoulder. She could see his eyes move to look at her. Talia observed Chance's maneuver. Bane's fingers wrapped around Chance's elbow, tightened, and pried her arm away from his throat. She winced at his vice grip. He bent forward, reached behind him to grab her shoulders, and threw her off his body. With a little squeal, Chance hit the ground with a _thud_ and met the wall with her back to it. Bane walked to a nearby cooler, opened it up, took out something blue, and tossed it toward Chance. When she picked it up, Talia recognized it to be an ice pack. Chance put it to her head, staggering slightly as she went to her feet. Bane looked at Talia.

"Good evening," he told her.

Talia smiled.

"I didn't interrupt anything, did I?" she asked, glancing at Chance, who strode away from the wall to stand beside Bane. They both were panting slightly.

"It's a regular training exercise," said Chance tiredly. She scratched the side of her head. Her tone was meant to exact an obvious reply. Talia knew it. Their exercises were normally intense. Her voice was hoarse. Talia imagined that they had been doing the training for maybe an hour and a half.

"News from the outside world?" asked Chance when Talia said nothing in return.

"Nothing that you're interested in," said Talia passively. She withdrew something white from her coat pocket. Chance's eyes fell to the enclosed envelopes with a grimace. She shook her head slowly. Talia already knew the intended reaction, but they _were_ from Ace. Talia held out the letters.

"Chance…"

"Rip them up," muttered Chance, holding a hand out in front of her. "I don't want them."

"They're from her, though." Talia said empathetically. "Your friend. We don't forget our friends."

Chance sighed. She handed Bane the ice pack, who was watching her with an apathetic look on his face. Chance took the letters from Talia. Only a solemn look settled in Chance's eyes as she looked at the mailing address. Chance opened one of the envelopes reluctantly. The beginning of the letter greeted her as 'friend'. The middle was furious writing. It was signed 'Your friend'. No one would know that it was Ace unless they watched her send it off themselves. Chance, merely seeing the intense, slanted penmanship tossed the letters to the floor, once more bothered. Talia and Bane exchanged glances as Chance turned her back to them.

Bane bent down to pick the opened the letter and the remaining unopened envelopes. He skimmed through it briefly before turning to Chance's retreated back.

"If this bothers you," said Bane, "I'll have Barsad destroy any more mail that comes from this address," he indicated the said residence with a finger on the paper. Chance turned to him.

"No…"

"It's obviously hurting you focus." Bane observed factually, waving a hand to her present condition. "Anytime"—he held up Ace's letter—"That you receive one of these, Chance, I know that you want to exact ill-placed schemes on the warden."

"Because she was given an unfair deal." Chance said patiently. She grabbed the letters out of Bane's hand. "These come from a broken-down woman whose only wish is to be free. She's locked up like an animal in a zoo with only convicts to keep her company. The goddamn Dent Act is to blame." Chance said. Bane watched her speak so passionately. Talia, feeling as if she might have started something, stood in the doorway, slightly shocked by Chance, defending such a dangerous woman like Ace.

"No probation," said Chance, tearing the envelopes and the letter in half—"No bail"—Chance ripped them into quarters—"No jury, not witnesses, _nothing!"_

Chance tossed the pieces of paper in her hands around her.

"Ace needs to go free." Chance said with some finality.

"When the fire rises," said Bane assuredly, setting a hand on Chance's tense shoulder; she glanced up at him, at ease when her eyes met his, "those who have been wronged will be set free. And we will bring those who have wronged her to our level. Where all should belong."

Talia smiled knowingly.

"Speaking of where people have wronged," said Talia with some pleasure in her voice. The hint of information brought Chance and Bane to look at her. Talia pushed herself off the frame and approached the two mercenaries. She held out a marked map. Chance took it and opened it. Red pen-point dots marked locations. A single blue X was in the middle of a desert-dry country. When Chance looked over the map, Bane took it out of her hands and observed the markings as well. Chance looked over his arm to observe more closely.

"These red dots are locations that Barsad and I have already scouted, Talia," said Chance, indicating each of them with a finger. "The nuclear physicist wasn't there."

"Dr. Leonide Pavel agreed to meet the American CIA agent, Wilson, at _this_ location," said Talia, showing a smaller dot beside the blue X. "Mercenaries that Bane sent out to find Pavel were exterminated, one survived. Now the American government knows that Pavel is coming to meet them at this X on the map. What's listed on their VIP list is Pavel, a driver, and one assassin."

Bane, who already understood what Talia was leading, handed Chance the map.

"We're unexpected guests," said Bane.

Chance cocked her head to the side at the map.

"Eastern Europe." Chance stated aloud. "Awfully vague for a targeted spot. So we try to infiltrate the jail, rescue a mate of ours, then come as prisoners." Considering the plan seemed a bit dangerous, she nodded, impressed. "Seems like an awful lot of work to find a guy that we're eventually just going to kill."

"Then think of it as another vacation," said Bane. "The CIA agent," he turned to Talia, "is named Wilson. He's been searching for us for quite a while since Pavel turned over for them."

"Maybe he's the man that has that family in Italy." Chance muttered, continuing to look at the map. "I never killed them," she informed Talia, who looked curious. "It was a mistake of mine. Wrong family. But they told me that an agent was searching for us." She smiled. "It might actually benefit us after all if we save this man's life."

Bane looked at Talia.

"You came all the way down here to tell us about this?"

"Not just that." Talia said with a smile. "It's the weekly visit to Daggett." She turned to Chance, who automatically looked disgusted. "I know that you hate seeing him. He's an ass, but it's his ass that we need."

Chance wrapped a towel around her neck. She sighed.

"He wouldn't be so much of an ass if his head wasn't pushed so far up the rectum." Chance muttered.

Talia gave her an appreciated smile.

Bane guided Chance to the door, his hand on the small of her back.

"We'll get ready to leave as soon as you come back here."

Chance nodded.

"It won't take long."


	3. Daggett and Stryver

City in Pieces II

Chapter Three: Daggett and Stryver

Daggett Industries was a corporation that was most famous for having some shady deals passed under the table. Evidence would be destroyed, so any prosecution would be lacking in data. Compared to what Gotham had tolerated in the past, a rich snob's dirty hands didn't even touch the muddy underbelly of Gotham's ravenous wolves in the nastiest parts of town. Even in the Old Town, nicknamed 'Poor' Town by the locals, worse things happened compared to a rigged game of chaps or a gambling habit gone awry.

Chance appreciated the funds that Daggett expelled toward the renovation in the sewers, how his money was affording the highest amounts of concrete concentrate, and although she wanted to at least tolerate the son of a bitch, she couldn't gain enough fondness for him in order to pretend that she cared if he died. Chance could take the risk of being seen in broad daylight; no one would arrest her. She wasn't foolish, though; she walked in the shadows. Barsad had offered to escort her, should Daggett get any ideas, but the business man was not a pervert, nor was he so stupid. Bane appeared before him once, and despite how brave Daggett had seemed, standing three feet inches shorter than Bane, Chance knew that he feared him. She didn't enter through the front door. Chance went through an open vent on the outside duct behind the dumpster, slipped through the ventilation shaft, and climbed her way through the system.

Daggett was sitting comfortably on a fine, red couch, sipping tequila on the clock. He was seated in front of a large television screen, clearly enjoying the sweet life. Phillip Stryver sat beside him, a leg crossed over the either, sharing the valued antiquities of being wealthy businessmen.

Chance scoffed at the appearance of the two men. With an almighty kick to the vent cage, Chance slipped through the ceiling, landing on her feet. The cage of the vent fell to the hardwood floor noisily. If the body that fell out of nowhere hadn't disturbed them, the cage door did. They were startled out of their calm reserve. Daggett nearly dropped his glass. Stryver straightened suddenly. Their eyes went to the woman standing in the middle of their office, hands on her attractive hips, her own eyes glancing at them, annoyed.

"What the hell are you doing here?" said Daggett rudely, obviously angered about his spilled milk. Chance approached him and took the glass out of his hand. She sipped the leftovers of his alcohol and placed it back in his hand. Stryver hardened beside Daggett, staring at the messenger with little fondness.

"Why are you here?" he asked her.

"It's our weekly meeting," said Chance. She was clad in fresh military fatigues. The clash of dark blue and black flattered her face and eyes. Daggett looked her over quickly before he replied to her, more calmly,

"Oh, yes." He attempted to gather his reserve. "I apologize."

"No, you don't." Chance said, crossing her arms. "You're not sorry at all. Hoping to skive off one of our little therapy sessions, John?"

"I was enjoying some tequila, Chance. It happens when men do this on occasion."

He strode pass her to fetch another glass for her and to refill himself. Chance gave him a disapproving look.

"We've been meeting here on a weekly basis, and every time I see you, you are drinking. Might want to stop soon." Chance shrugged. "Lowers a man's libido like the image of his naked grandmother." A smile crossed her lips when Stryver shuddered. Apparently, he saw the image for himself and could testify its worth. Chance turned back to look at Daggett. He held up a bottle.

"What's your poison?" he asked her sweetly.

"I don't drink." Chance stated coldly.

"You seem like you enjoyed my leftovers," said Daggett, a slight menace in his eyes.

"Old habits die hard. I gave it up." Chance then pressed on. "The matter of payment, Daggett."

"Hm, he's got you trained like he wants you," said Phillip Stryver appreciatively from the couch. Chance gave Daggett an annoyed look before turning to the other man. "Awfully hard to do that with women these days. All they do is talk."

"Perhaps I'll write that on your grave." Chance said hardheartedly.

Daggett raised his eyebrows. She was all business. That's all that it ever was. Bane had her wound so tight that no one could make a joke. Daggett wasn't going to say much of anything. Her eyes watched him retreat to his desk to fetch the envelope containing valuable bills. From behind his back, Daggett heard Stryver press on with a bit of a dare.

"I hear that Ace," said Stryver, circling his wine in his glass with interest, "is serving, what? Her…" he counted in the air, "eleventh term this year. Such a long time in the can, I think."

Chance's gaze toward him was heartless.

"Even so," continued Stryver, "that I hear from a buddy of mine that Ace was sent to see some psychiatrist, though she refused. Mad with love, I think is the expression that applies here. She's got it for the Joker, I was told. Fell ruthlessly in love with him, and then he was carried off. You were there, apparently. Or else I—"

"Chance!" Daggett cried out from his position, staring wide-eyed as Chance's hand wrapped threateningly around Stryver's throat. He strode quickly toward her. "Let him go!"

Her eyes bored through Stryver's weak, green ones. Unblinkingly, she narrowed them into Stryver's soul. He gasped for air, penetrated by her grip so tight into his throat that she pinned him to the back of the couch.

"Let him go, I said!"

Chance released Stryver, but she turned on Daggett. The color vanished from her face; then she was up in his.

"I've nearly had it," she said darkly, "with your friend's snide comments about my friend, _Daggett._ He's on thin ice." She showed him just exactly how thin with two fingers. "This thin."

Daggett tried a smooth recovery. He set a hand on her shoulder to calm down such a high-strung woman. In such a way, she was very attractive when she was angry. Daggett almost nearly wondered if she and Bane were lovers. His move to calm her only stirred her angry brew. Chance swung his hand away from her.

"I'm not happy with you, Daggett. Honestly," she said spitefully, "I don't like you."

"Well, gee," said Daggett, less than hurt from her remark, "that isn't good."

"Living in a penthouse, drinking, and watching TV while the rest of the world burns. It's your kind that made Gotham such a hole." She grabbed the envelope from his hand. The paycheck. Daggett merely shrugged. It was only money.

"Not everybody likes my company. Join the club." Daggett said carelessly. He strode back to the couch. "Phil, you all right?"

"Yeah."

"Of course, he is," said Chance pitilessly.

Stryver looked at her.

"You could have killed me." Stryver said.

"It's not me that you have to answer to," said Chance, striding toward the ventilation shaft. She turned to look at their unimpressed faces. "Thanks for the cash. It's appreciated."

"Ah, a thank you." Daggett said from his seat.

"I'm not thanking you." Chance said seriously. "It's just money."

Daggett held up a finger to stop her from moving. She waited for his reply.

"Money makes this world go 'round, dear."

"Right." Chance said sarcastically. "Well, when you're trying to pay off thugs who are invading your home for jewels and fine wines, you see just how valuable your money is to a couple of starving men."

"I could pay them off." Daggett said confidently.

"They'd use it to stoke the fire. It may have some value now. Flaunt it as you please," said Chance with a slight hint of understanding. "But wealth only lasts so long. Everybody's money eventually runs out. Just like time. And _time _cannot be bought."

Daggett's smile vanished when Chance leaped back into the shaft, climbing like a writhing snake back through the dirty, metal tubes, and ended up in the shitter of a hole in the back of the building.

_The rich,_ thought Chance in hatefully, _really are arrogant._


	4. The Fire Rises

City in Pieces II

Chapter Four: The Fire Rises

"Do you think we'll run into many agents?" asked Chance.

"With no sarcasm intended," said Bane clearly, "we _are_ terrorists."

"We're not."

"…To them." Bane clarified. He gave her an honest look, appreciative of her meaning.

Chance pocketed a golden dagger in her belt. He glanced at it, sleeping against her hip. It had been eight years, and she still managed to keep it against her like a newborn baby. He had his selected men, geared up and ready to leave at his cue. Bane wrapped an arm around her shoulder and guided her out of the command center. Among the men that Bane had at his call were several who managed to outlast the police department. Whiskey, the previously retired bartender; Butch, one of Maroni's made men; Rocco, the first man that Chance had met while under Bane's tutelage; String and Wick, two brothers whom had found Chance in the middle of reacting to misgiven poison; and Barsad, Chance's second-in-command, and Bane's third-in-command. Chance felt a talk coming on, so it was no surprise to her when he stepped her away from the men.

"Pavel will recognize your voice," said Bane. "He will know it is you on the plane." As an explanation, he offered, "You spoke more to him. He'll be able to remember your voice."

"I shot his boy. Anybody would remember that." Chance added, though the sentiment that should have been there was gone. Sure, she didn't enjoy killing a nine-year-old, but that was water under the bridge. Of course, for Pavel, he was still swimming in it. Bane agreed with a nod.

"I have confidence in you that you'll do what I say."

"Without hesitation," said Chance with a smile.

"Good." Bane set a hand on the small of her back; her cheeks flushed. "All right." To his men, his voice was boisterous and rough, "_Let's move out!"_

In a private plane, Barsad handed the men and woman a glass of liquid encouragement. Bane took nothing, gazing out the window, enjoying the passing delights of a realistic painting outside the little port. Chance observed his admirable facial expressions. As they usually did so, his eyes expressed fondness. She didn't touch her glass of scotch, but did thank Barsad for his generous offer. Barsad placed the half-empty bottle on the table for the others to have seconds. Chance handed off her glass to Whiskey. She rose to her feet and sat down beside Bane.

"Brief them?" she suggested, waving a hand to the men.

"I'll leave that to you. I'm enjoying the view from up in the sky."

Chance glanced at the men around the table. She looked out one of her windows. She understood the meaning of beauty of the world. Gotham was polluted with nothing but crime and filth. On another continent, desert life seemed so peaceful, docile, away from hate and despair.

_Too easy,_ Chance thought desperately, _to simply pick up and leave._

"I was once told," began Chance with an affectionate tone—Bane glanced at her when he heard it—"that for some people, Gotham is a playground. Something a person can use to enjoy life, seedy enjoyment, you know: bootlegging and such. On some level," she said, "when it's nighttime, and the city is lit by the street lights with a full moon hanging in the balance…It's like the city is trying to cling for some life that isn't riddled with Jokers and Cranes. Something peaceful."

"Reminiscent, Chance?" asked Bane in a low voice.

"It's a beautiful picture when we're not under the ground," said Chance. Her eyes sparked at him slightly. "Though," she muttered, "sometimes the view underground is better than the ones above."

Bane considered her for a moment. He turned to his men.

"Brief."

The men straightened, ready to listen.

"We've arranged a deal with Pavel," said Chance, serious and business-like. "We meet him quietly. We bring him to the CIA by truck. Under the guise of Bane, Whiskey, and I being mercenaries who work for him"—she indicated Bane with her head—"we'll be pulled in by Barsad, Butch, String, and Wick, caught by infiltrating a federal building. You all will pretend to be agents. Pavel doesn't recognize your faces." Chance informed them. "He will think that you're citizens of Bulgaria, sending him to a safe haven, while holding three captives.

"When the CIA agent, Wilson, confronts you on the numbers that you keep, since only one assassin will be coming on board," said Chance, "Barsad, you tell him that we work for the 'masked man'. When everything goes in order, and it will, you know what to do."

Barsad interlude,

"How do you know that Wilson will keep you three alive?"

"We don't," said Chance automatically. "But," she continued with a smile, "if we knew everything, this wouldn't be half as fun, would it?"

Barsad gave her an amused look. Chance turned to the rest of the men.

"Is everyone clear?"

They all nodded in unison.

"I said is everyone in _clear?_" Chance said, her voice instantly hoarse and demanding.

A united, boisterous, _"YES, LIEUTENANT!" _came from the men.

Chance nodded to them, pleased. Bane handed her IV tubes and a needle.

"Put this in your pockets. These will come in handy when we make the switch."

"You're sure the body," asked Chance, hiding the supplies, "will be mistaken as Pavel?"

"I'm certain. And when they do discover that it's a decoy, it won't matter." Bane told her casually.

The plane started to descend. They were almost there. Chance always had the rolling stomach whenever something big was about to go down; every time she thought about it, her gut would wrench. In theory, everything would go well, but circumstances had a habit of changing. Her eyes turned nervously out the window. They would land. Pavel would be there at the airport as discussed. He was under the impression that the mercenaries that he encountered in Bulgaria were going to travel with him and let him go free once they reached the landed plane. Though Bane had a different plan for him. The CIA would consider them only because Bane was so well-known to the military. Chance hoped that they'd want the others alive, too, rather than just Bane.

Chance felt a hand fall discreetly onto hers. Chance glanced furtively beside her lap; Bane's fingers interlaced with hers. She looked at him. He showed no sign that he knew he was holding her hand, but it was reassuring to know that he didn't lack after all these years; his feelings never changed. They never discussed it much more. The facts were there. No need to re-hash it. Comfortable. Quiet. And that's what might have confirmed it.

Chance inhaled to let out the bad stirrings in her gut. Instead, her breath was shaky. Bane also exhaled, his out-put was far more calm and relaxed. Chance closed her eyes. _Breathe, Chance._

"Easy." Bane told her quietly as the plane drew closer to the ground.

When the stairwell fell to the ground, Bane, Chance, and Whiskey stood next to each other, holding black sacks in their hands. Barsad stood in front of them, taking each face in turn.

"We'll guide you to the car," he said bravely, "then put Pavel in between you"—he spoke to Chance— "and Bane."

Chance smiled at him. He gave her a respectful gaze. He considered taking her place, but Bane's plan was what it was. She'd be the second masked assassin. Barsad nodded is head to the three mercenaries. Altogether, they slid their hoods over their heads. Chance's visage was suddenly dark.

Barsad came around each of them and handcuffed their wrists gently. Chance could only hear orders being carried out.

"Down the stairs, gents!" Barsad cried out to the remaining men.

Chance heard footsteps pound the metal staircase, unboarding the plan.

"Bane…" Chance whispered.

"I'm here." Bane's deep voice answered. Chance's stomach clenched uncertainly.

"One at a time," Barsad's voice said, aimed at the masked ones.

Whiskey's footsteps went first, light and hesitant. Then Bane followed, heavy footsteps. Chance pursued him, blindly walking forward. Descending the stairs, she heard Pavel's voice,

"Oh, thank god! I was hoping you'd all show up!"

"Not a sound," whispered Bane's voice. Chance bit her tongue.

"Dr. Pavel," greeted Barsad. "These are my men from the agency. We've captured assassins who were working for Bane. If you don't mind, we'd like to bring you to safety, but we don't have another car for them. They'll travel with you."

"I'm not sure that I like that—"

Barsad interrupted him,

"I know that you feel uneasy around them, but we have no choice!"

After a quiet pondering silence, Pavel agreed to the terms,

"Well, all right then. Just please, get me to the American."

_Easier than I thought,_ Chance stated in her mind.

Barsad filed them into the back seat of a car. Chance could smell Pavel's childish cologne on his person as Barsad sat him in between she and Bane. By the tension in the air, he was uncomfortable.

_Good,_ thought Chance icily. She felt more people file into the cruiser.

The drive must have been an hour. Judging by the dry air and the overall dusty atmosphere, they were somewhere in a desert. The silence in the car must have been tormenting to Pavel. On some level, he might have known that the prisoners were not his friends. When the car stopped, and Chance, Bane, Whiskey, and Pavel were taken out of their seats, Chance felt Barsad push her slightly in a straight line.

A body came forth pass her, she felt a wind.

"Dr. Pavel," said a man's voice. "I'm Agent Wilson."

An exchange of a man for money was in order. They made the switch.

"He wasn't alone," Barsad's voice informed the CIA agent.

Wilson's voice answered, pointed to Pavel,

"You don't get to bring friends."

"They're not my friends," said Pavel certainly.

"No charge for them." Barsad assured the officer.

"Why would I want _them?_"

"They were trying to grab your prize," said Barsad. "They work for the mercenary. The masked man."

Then in a quiet, understanding voice,

"_Bane._"

Chance's stomach turned when the agent said his name.

"The girl?" inquired Wilson. "The woman that works with him. Was she there?"

"Just these three," said Barsad, indicating the three prisoners.

"Get them on board," said Wilson decisively. "I'll call them in."

Within minutes, they were flying low in above the mountain range. Chance felt uncomfortable. Handcuffed, blind-folded, and unaware of the location of the plan that she was kneeling in, Chance didn't like the weight of options. She didn't know where Bane was precisely, either her left or right.

Agent Wilson grabbed whoever was kneeling to her right.

"What are you doing in the middle of my operation?"

The man said nothing. Chance closed her eyes, despite not knowing who was being held out of the cargo door. She knew it was open. She could feel the wind tugging at her hair. Chance heard Wilson take out a gun. The cock of the mechanism…Semi-automatic. Wilson's voice raised, and she heard him loud and clear,

"The flight plan that I just filed with the Agency lists me, my men, and Dr. Pavel here. But only _one_ of you."

Cold air invaded the cabin. Chance could hear the wind outside. Screaming. Whoever was to her right was slung to the floor, no doubt being hung out of the door, threatening his life.

"First to talk gets to stay on my aircraft!" Wilson shouted. "So…who paid you to grab Dr. Pavel?"

Silence.

_You'll have to try harder than that, Agent Asshole,_ thought Chance, pleased with the response.

Then Wilson's gun fired. Chance flinched. Worry surpressed her cocky attitude.

_Please, don't let that be Bane. _

Chance felt hands on her neck.

"He didn't fly so good," said Wilson. "Who wants to try next?"

As Wilson grabbed Chance's nape of her military uniform, forcing her to the cargo door, she felt a nearby body on the floor touch her foot. Whiskey or Bane was still on the plane. Didn't he say he threw one of them out of the door?

_Hmph, nice try._

Chance knew the truth. He was bluffing.

Wilson held the gun to Chance's head, pushing neck out the window. Chance uttered a small cry of distress, such force from the altitude was making her lose oxygen.

"Tell me about Bane!" Wilson demanded.

Chance did as Bane told her to do. Not a sound.

"Lot of loyalty for a hired gun!"

Or," a new voice interrupted, "maybe she's wondering why someone would shoot a man before throwing him out of an airplane."

Chance recognized him to be Bane. Wilson apparently took notice of the altered voice, for he pulled Chance back into the aircraft.

"Wiseguy, huh?" said Wilson. "At least you can talk. Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter who we are," said Bane's voice clearly. "We are nothing. We are the dirt beneath your feet. What matters is our plan."

Wilson hesitated. Chance felt her hood be pulled off. She stared at him when he met her eyes. As if this confirmed his first assumption, Wilson withdrew the hood off Bane's head. Chance glanced behind her to see Whiskey.

"Nobody cared who I was until I put on the mask," said Bane. Chance was knelt beside him. She saw officers all around. Loaded firearms gazed at her.

Wilson gave Bane a quick overview. Chance could see a mixture of excitement and fear in face. Capturing Bane and his Lieutenant would make anyone ecstatic. Chance's hair came out of the bun when the wind blew; a blonde mane framed her face. Wilson looked at Bane's mask.

"If I pull that off, will you die?"

"It would be extremely painful."

"You're a big guy."

"…For you."

"Was getting caught part of your plan?" asked Wilson.

"Of course. Dr. Pavel refused our offer, in favor of yours. We had to know what he told you about us."

"Nothing!" Pavel cried out. Chance looked up to see him. Bane glared at him.

"_Liar,_" spat Chance in his direction.

"I said nothing!" pleaded Pavel.

"Why not just ask him?" said Wilson.

Chance smirked at him. Bane glanced at her. Wilson turned to her. He asked again,

"Why not just ask him?"

"He would not have told us," said Chance calmly. Her voice was low and sultry.

"You have methods," said Wilson, giving her face a quick look.

"Him," volunteered Bane, "I need healthy."

Chance said,

"You present no such problems."

There was a roaring thunder around them. A massive transport plane was approaching from above, larger than this small turbojet aircraft. A military aircraft. A ramp opened beneath the transport and four men dropped down hanging from cables; tow on either side of the target—armed and ready. Chance could see the plan working. She knew that was what was happening outside the cabin.

The rumbling grew louder.

"Well, congratulations," Wilson taunted Bane. "You got caught. What's the next step in your master plan?"

"Crashing this plane." Bane said, rising to his feet. "_With no survivors!"_

An armed man smashed through one of the windows. Chance rose to her feet; jumped her wrists like a rope, and broke the chains over her knee; Bane wrenched apart his own with mere strength. Shots rang out from the opposite directions as a pair of snipers fired through the windows, shattering them. Chance punched several guards in their gut, sending them to the floor. Wilson grabbed for Chance's neck, hoping to at least make one headline on the news. However, his grip loosened when Bane took his hand off Chance's head and punched him—hard—in the throat.

Outside the plane, the other two men attached sturdy steel grapples to the fuselage. Thick, industrial-strength cables connected the two aircrafts as one of the men signaled the crew aboard the big transport. Powerful hoists activated, tugging on the tail of the smaller plane that flew below. Groaning winches exerted tremendous pressure on the captured plane. Then its tail was yanked forward.

The entire cabin tilted forward at a ninety-degree angle, throwing the CIA agent and his men off balance. Loose baggage and debris tumbled toward the front of the plane. Dead soldiers catapulted to the very front like dolls in a car accident. Wilson held onto one of the seats for dear life. Chance automatically grabbed one of them beside Wilson; Bane and his men picked handles to grasp. They dangled. Chance searched for Pavel. When her eyes found the frightened scientist, she raised two fingers to her lips and whistled loudly to Bane.

He looked down at her. Then his eyes found what he wanted. He made his way down the seats, but Wilson got cocky. He cocked a loaded gun and aimed the barrel at Bane. Chance swung herself; a flexible leg knocked the gun out the agent's hand. With an almighty kick, he struck him in the throat, breaking his neck. He collapsed below her, falling with the dead soldiers. Chance watched, with amazement and awe, as Bane jumped from seat to seat to get to Pavel.

The plane shook violently.

The wind howled through the shattered windows' the right wing tore off; then the left.

"_Wild,_" Chance muttered.

Barsad appeared in front of her, standing on top of the seat. He pulled her up, attaching a harness to her that connected her to the airplane above.

The front of the plane tore off, exposing the earth about 30 feet below. A deadly fall. Chance looked up to see Butch, String, and Wick lowering a body bag into the broken plane. Bane took Pavel by the arm and pushed up to the seats where Chance now stood, balanced. Bane unzipped the bag, revealing a stranger. Bane tore open Pavel's sleeve with no explanation. Chance withdrew the IV tubing and needle. Bane held Pavel's arm still. He was screaming in terror. Chance plunged the needle through his arm easily; blood ran through the tubing and into the dead man. A pint drained from Pavel, then Chance withdrew the needle quickly. Bane gestured for Pavel to apply pressure to his wound to avoid bleeding out. Chance wrapped a harness around Bane's torso, held onto tether cables attached to the plane. Whiskey, Butch, String, Wick, and Barsad attached harnesses to themselves. Chance saw Rocco about to strap himself in; Bane set a hand on his shoulder.

"No, brother," said Bane gently. Chance looked up to glance at Rocco. "They expect one of us to be in the wreckage, friend."

Chance watched Rocco unlock himself from the harness. His eyes glowed with the fervor of a true believer.

"Have we started the fire?" asked Rocco.

Bane squeezed Rocco's arm.

"The fire rises."

Chance leaned forward to Rocco, who gazed at her momentarily.

"_(It's been a pleasure working with you, friend_)," Chance said in a French dialect.

Rocco nodded.

"_(Honor),_" he corrected her in French.

Chance smiled at him. She gave him a swift kiss on the cheek.

Bane gathered a screaming Pavel in his arms,

"Calm down, Doctor. Now's not the time for fear. That comes later."

The plane collapsed around them. Then they were swinging in the air.

Chance watched the broken plane free fall below. She held onto the harness like a swing. Pavel, terrified, cried out pleas to a God that had apparently abandoned him long ago.


	5. Scarification

City in Pieces II

Chapter Five: Scarification

Flying back to Gotham was simple. Putting Pavel in a cell was simple. On the whole prospect if retrieving Pavel, it was being on the plane that had given Chance the heebie jeebies, but even then, she had felt certain calm and collection. She knew the reason already. Bane knew exactly what to do in the given situation. He took command of the flight when the signal was there. He knew every single detail. Chance could only admire him ever more. She had done it when he was searching for Pavel on the seats. Chance's chest leaped when Bane punched Wilson in the throat. It was a different picture, seeing Bane assault others. Chance admitted it freely. She liked it.

"I realized today," said Chance as she pulled off a layer of her military coat, "that I never have really seen you kill anyone."

Bane rested his body on a single cot bed, bare-chested. He watched her undress in front of him.

"I mean, I've been on the receiving end," she said casually. "It just changes things when you're doing it to somebody else." A smile crossed her lips. Quietly she added, "Yes, it does."

What was left of her clothes were her trousers and a green tank top. She crossed the floor to stand in front of a seated Bane. He looked up into her face. Bane already knew what she wanted. He was familiar with that expression on her face. It was obvious that the fact that he killed all those soldiers up in the plane had opened another reason why she was attracted to him. Chance set her hands on his bare shoulders. Her body was hot. He could feel the heat coming from her. Bane set his hands on her hips. His fingers could feel her stomach clench.

"I saw what you did to those men." Chance said. Her voice dropped. She lowered her eyes from his mask to his one. He only watched her face. "It makes me understand," she continued, "that you can do…the same…thing"—her hands fell to his grip around her waist. Her fingers fumbled loosely with his hands. "…To me."

"And this excites you?" asked her in his echoing voice.

Chance gave him a smile that she only used for him, a sexy quirk of the corner of her mouth and a dormant spark in her eyes that would come alive. Chance slipped her arms around his neck.

"Mm-hm," she nodded. "You'd kill me in a heartbeat, wouldn't you? If I turned on you?"

"In a heartbeat," replied Bane honestly. He looked into her eyes when he said it.

"A man of your word," said Chance. "It's what any girl wants. But you know what?"

"Hm?"

Chance withdrew the golden dagger from her trouser pocket and held it in front of Bane with a seductive smirk.

"I'm not like other girls."

Bane glanced at her knife, unworried. Chance licked her bottom lip. Bane let her move forward. She sat on his lap; her knees positioned on the edge of the bed. He held her waist to keep her balanced, though it looked like she had it under control. Chance held the knife in front of her.

"Take it."

Bane questioned her premise, but admittedly was curious to know where all of this was going. He took the offered blade by the handle. Chance leaned forward; her hands caressed up his neck, lying softly along the rim of his mask. Her lips touched his cheek. Bane felt her hips move.

"I want something different…"

"How different?" he offered, glancing at the shining blade in his hand.

"Mm," she whispered against his mask, "I think you know."

"I do know," said Bane. Cold steel touched the side of Chance's cheek; the side of the blade caressed her skin as he slipped the knife down her heated skin. Chance felt the familiar fear and rapture that entangled itself around him. Intoxicating. Addictive.

"But," he said, once she straightened like an obedient dog, "I want you tell me."

"Test me." Chance said, bearing into his eyes. Her hands felt to his chest, concentric circles along his heart, and to his rippling abdobmen. "Pain tolerance." He didn't flinch when she admitted the truth. "Test my pain tolerance."

"I know that your threshold is high."

"Then torture me, Bane," said Chance with a little smirk. She spoke in a manner that one would think that she was high. Bane knew that tone to be arousal, danger in her voice. She could know how dangerous he was, when she left all the decisions to him. Chance's pain tolerance _was_ high, and as any person with a threshold like hers, it was a challenge to see how much she could endure before caving into agony.

"Where first?" Bane asked, slipping the side of the blade along the curvature of her back.

"Anywhere," she said.

"This is your game."

"Who said," she asked, "that this was a game?"

"Do you miss being the victim, Chance?"

"Mm, what do you think?" she sighed. Her fingers crawled back up his body; her arms snaked over his shoulders, lightly grazing his back with her fingernails. She whispered,

"_Surprise me._"

Bane took a handful of her shirt and pulled up the back. He felt Chance's mouth on his shoulder. Her teeth gingerly marked him. The golden dagger shined in the dim light of the room. He held it loosely in his hands. The sharpened tip kissed the oyster of Chance's back. A trickle of blood tickled Chance on the way down, disappearing into her trousers. Bane heard her giggle quietly.

"What's the matter, dear?" she said. "Scared to break me?"

"No," said Bane.

Chance felt another nick under the previous niche of her back. More than a trickle. Chance gritted her teeth. Bane pulled her body toward him, to get a better grip of his canvas.

"Ooh, look at you go," said Chance in a squeal between pain and pleasure. Bane trailed the knife through her flesh. Chance felt him spell a name. Chance's fingers grasped his shoulders. Her pain tolerance was shrieking. Blood ran down her back in marvelous streams. She gasped for air. Bane didn't wince as he wrapped a towel around her back, and stomach, setting her on the mattress. Bane sat on the edge of the bed. She was wincing as her body tried to scab over.

"How was that for you?" she said with a quirky grin.

"I honestly have no idea."

"Felt good, didn't it?" she said, holding the towel around her stomach.

"I think that's your call."

"What did you write on me?" Chance asked curiously, taking the golden dagger from his hand, observing her blood on the knife.

"Lean forward in front of the mirror there."

Chance moved in order to look at her back. She was slightly taken aback when she read across her entire back,

"_BANE._" Chance whispered aloud.

"I believe the term is scarification," noted Bane. "I assumed that what you wanted."

Chance grinned.

"This will do. Hurts, but this will do."


	6. Pawn Star, Officer, Burglar, Oh My!

Author's Note: I'm so relieved that this story has started with a bang. Thank you for so many early reviews. More to come. Enjoy the chapter. Oh, since I enjoy hearing from those who matter the most in this world of fanfiction, I would like you all, in the review for this chapter, to give me some feedback of scenes that you really want to read from Dark Knight Rises, along with your favorite scene from City in Pieces or, if you read Two Heads About Everything, scenes from that. Favorite characters, anything that you would like to expect from this installment. I look forward to reading your replies.

Let the games begin.

The City in Pieces II

Chapter Six: Pawn Star, Officer, Burglar, Oh my!

When Chance awoke from a painful sleep, she was stirred by the absence in Bane's bed. Her back ached like Hell on Earth, something that she hadn't felt in a while. Pain. Chance dressed in her daily dress, a Marines uniform, intact with combat boots, black socks, trousers, a black sports bra beneath a matching tank top and a jacket. She drew her long hair up in a long ponytail, which cascaded down on her strong shoulders.

Chance popped open a bottle of Oxycontin and popped in two A215, blue, round pills into her mouth and swallowed them dry in one gulp. Chance turned the bottle over to read the side effects in slight amusement.

'_Constipation; dizziness; drowsiness; dry mouth; headache; nausea; sweating; vomiting; weakness. Severe allergic reactions (rash; hives; itching; difficulty breathing; tightness in the chest; swelling of the mouth, face, lips, or tongue); abnormal snoring or sighing; confusion; difficulty urinating; fainting; fast, slow, or irregular heartbeat; hallucinations; mental or mood changes; seizures; severe dizziness, drowsiness, or light-headedness; severe or persistent stomach pain, nausea, or constipation; shortness of breath; slow or shallow breathing; tremor; vision changes._'

"I must be one of the lucky ones," said Chance. She set the bottle in one of trouser pockets. Bane and Talia were the only people who knew that Chance was self-medicating her painful interaction in training exercises. Admittedly, she was hooked on the drug. It provided her with relaxation, numbness, and pain relief. It saved Bane from extracting his inhalants from his mask to use on her, and the bottles came through a service that enlisted the use of one Jonathan Crane. Although the doctor was locked up in Arkham, his services were valid for an infinite amount of time. His secretary, a loyal sycophant of his, sent the bottles to an abandoned street address in private labeled envelopes on a _High Priority_ shipment.

The drug had caused Chance to give up drinking; alcohol mixed with Oxycontin had fatal effects. Death was one of them. Chance strode out of the room and strode through the command center. At the monitor station, Bane was looking over a list of assets. He was flipping through pages on a clipboard, seated on the edge of the desk that upon it were the computer screens. They were highly-advanced technology that they actually were just screens floating in the middle of the room. Through the empty spaces, a person could see the other comrade through a map of the United States and point to certain destinations, waving around data and factual points with a finger or widening their prints on the map. Bane looked up from his clipboard to set a hand on the floating screens of weaponry. Chance watched him finger through the weaponry database quickly. Numbers appeared on the screen, tossing around each other to appropriate for his commands. Chance approached him from behind, watching the monitors switch and turn to Bane's wishes.

"Good morning, Lieutenant," greeted Bane without looking over his shoulder.

"Good morning," said Chance with a sigh.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her routinely, as he busied his eyes with the lit screens in front of him.

"Spectacular," she answered, half-seriously.

"Dr. Jonathan Crane's secretary sends her regards," said Bane informatively. As one hand continued to breeze through the database, Bane withdrew a letter from his pocket from Arkham Asylum's Administrations Offices. Chance took it with little word from him.

"Oh," said Chance quietly. "How did you get this?"

"Barsad took it upon his favor that while he was retrieving the necessities from one our suppliers, he picked up your prescription along with the mail that was there for you," said Bane, eyes remaining on the screens. He hesitated with a hovering finger to continue on, glancing at her momentarily. "And," he said on a more delicate note, "more letters from Ace came in for you."

"Burn the letters," muttered Chance, opening the one from Crane's office.

"If you insist on throwing them away upon arrival," said Bane, his voice returning to seriousness, "you should cancel your subscription to Ace. I've read enough detailed novels and encyclopedias to know that a relationship between two females is built upon a foundation of trust." He swiped the screen once. "Your interest in her is lactating," he informed her, finally turning to her. "She should know."

Chance crossed her arms.

"I don't enjoy arguing with you, Bane, not only for the fact that you are my commanding officer," she said on standing ground, "but you should know more than anyone else that I haven't '_lost interest' _ in her." Chance frowned at him. Bane stared at her. "With all due respect—"

"Are you sure?" he reacted to her, indicating her previous standpoint toward him. "I admire the fact that you've learned to stand your ground on evidence that you are passionate about," he said; she recoiled when he approached her, "however, I'm sure you're losing your ability to remember how to speak to me."

Chance bit the inside of her cheek. He towered over her. Chance cleared her throat nervously. He made his point, then he back away from her. His eyes glanced at her momentarily before returning to the screens. Chance recuperated.

"What's wrong with our arsenal?" she asked.

Bane, pleased to hear the light concern in her tone, swept a hand across the board. He handed the clipboard to her.

"I've spent that last hour cross-examining the written numbers to the international database," noted Bane, indicating each form of information, "and after the industrialized enhancement that we received from Daggett's _friendly_"—he emphasized it sarcastically, much to Chance's amusement—"funds, the out-dated armaments are lying around, taking up space."

"How come we didn't pawn them off to our guy in the black market?" asked Chance curiously, striding around the screens to look at the numbers, opposite of Bane.

"History repeats itself, Chance," said Bane. "The last time you interacted with Daggett, you had to dangle his partner out the window to make sure that he wouldn't recoil. Now that he knows exactly who you are, he can turn you in at any time, should he have the desire to do so."

"I know that," said Chance lightly, "but why didn't we get rid our weaponry? If we built automatics, the police make rapid-automatics. If they get plasma grenades, we upgrade."

"In case Daggett should stop funding this entire operation, we wouldn't be using this," he indicated the floating screens. He turned to Chance. "With advancements coming through in the next week," he continued, "we're losing capacity."

Chance nodded.

"I can send the broken fixtures to the pawn shop down the street."

"Wasn't he in Joker's gang?"

"He's one of the better guys," said Chance honestly. She reached out a hand to the screens. The floating data was warm under her touch; she flicked the weaponry numbers to a profile, named _Mark Hamill._ Chance zoomed in on the man on the screen. The luminous picture glowed in the dim light, lighting up Chance and Bane's eyes.

"Hamill." Bane repeated the name. "One of your old colleagues?"

"When I was working solo," said Chance, "I sold my consumables to him when I was running out of money. He can be trusted," she assured Bane when gave her a hard look.

"Mm." Bane muttered. "Should he show any interest in the merchandise, make sure that he pays you in straight bills. No credit cards, checks, debit—nothing." He minimized the windows. Chance ripped out the data sheet from the clipboard that listed the available products.

She gave the list a quick over view.

"These were weapons that Joker and Ace found in my warehouse," she recognized the highlighted portions of the list.

"Highly valuable items, Chance," said Bane. "We kept them under our assets; you have good taste in artillery," he told her on a side-note.

"Any girl can shoot a gun," dismissed Chance, eyes on the paper.

"And miss," he added.

She nodded.

"True enough. Well," she sighed, "I'll head out through the tunnels, out the back. I can get to 5th Avenue with little trouble by taking the path through the narrows."

"Avoid that route," Bane advised when Chance started to walk away.

Chance glanced at him, curious.

"The GCPD are watching that path since Ace attempted a jailbreak." Bane informed her considerately.

"I'll take the alternate route, then," Chance said, disregarding the mentioning of Ace.

"And Daggett has requested a meeting with you at a restaurant, adjacent to Gotham Port."

"Why?" sighed Chance, suddenly irked.

"He requested that he'd have you there. To my understanding, it doesn't concern my attendance."

"Probably some shit," muttered Chance. "Did he mention the reason why?"

"A business offer, an exchange of understanding terms, tedious assets," Bane listed, turning back to the screens. "I would keep an open mind when you get there." He tossed something in Chance's direction. She caught it by the handle. She pocketed the dagger in her trousers. "Be prepared, should something happened."

"Always nice to know that you care." Chance said whimsically from her position at the exit.

"Notify me if something interesting should happen."

"Noted," Chance called back.

Chance did as Bane advised. Through the alternate route, she bypassed the Police Department with no problem. Mark Hamill's business affairs were shady and honorable; the customers that he had in his shop were degrading and promising. As long as the merchandise was valuable, and the money passed through hands with little to no trouble, business was business. Mark Hamill was a skinny man, bore tattooed sleeves along every side of his arms, was clean shaven, and had the look of a man who knew the rough part of town. Chance entered the pawn shop, and the bell above the door jingled adorably. Chance glanced up at it.

Hamill busied himself over cleaning trophies. Chance watched him spit onto the shining gold metal on one of them and cleaned it with a paper towel. With some disgust, Chance approached the counter. Hamill took no notice of her.

"Oh, sir," said Chance, "do you know where a little woman like me could sell some guns?"

"I don't know, babe," said Hamill without looking at her, "perhaps you could try the bakery down the street."

"What if I killed the baker a few years back?"

Hamill straightened his back, intrigued.

"Would be a shame to lose all these," said Chance in her low, charming voice, tossing the paper on the desk, "in some baked goods…"

Hamill turned slowly, meeting her eyes in immediate recognition.

"Wouldn't it?" Chance said, smirking at him.

"Well, well, well," said Hamill, stepping toward the register, a smile registering in automatic captivation. "There ain't no mistake here. I can spot them eyes from across the room in a Shakespeare film." She smiled at him. "Ain't seen a piece of ass like you in a goddamn century."

"Because all the good ones are turning tricks," said Chance. She handed him the weaponry assets.

"Ooh," he said, taking the note from her. "Quite some heat you're packing these days. Word on the street is that you found some guy, and he's treatin' you like you're his bitch."

"I'm not his bitch," said Chance seriously.

"Oh, sorry." He held up his hands defensively with note in his hand. "You're like this big shot, right? I miss seeing your face around this part of town. But I hear ain't no one is able to touch you, anyway. Flanked by bodyguards armed to a fucking T is what I'm told by cops 'round here."

He gave her a charming smile.

"I don't see guards right now."

"It's a simple job tonight," said Chance gently. "My commander and I have recently gotten a man to donate quite a generous fortune to our finances. We've upgraded," she said as Hamill looked at the list, "and these are the weapons that are lying around. They're taking up space. I need you to make an offer, and I'll sell them to you."

"They come in parts or the whole goddamn thing?"

"I can field strip them if you like," offered Chance with a shrug, "or I can give you the entire gun. At any rate, I want them gone. What do you think?"

"These were products that you and Ace used."

"Yes. But they hold as much sentimental value as the clothes on your back," said Chance lethargically. Hamill browsed her face for any sign of weakness.

"Taking her absence quite well, I see."

"I'm moving through it."

"Drugs?" he asked.

"Oxycontin," said Chance, "but that's not why I'm taking them."

"So your boyfriend _does_ beat you._"_

"He doesn't beat me."

"So those bruises are make-up?"

"He trained me a few days back. It's nothing. Besides, you wouldn't want to lose your shop in a fist fight with him." Chance said blamelessly. Hamill quirked an eyebrow at her fond tone for him.

"You're confident he'd beat me. You know I lived on the streets."

"Yeah, well, he's lived under them," she dismissed him. "The deal, Mark. What do you want from all this?"

"Well, I can give you about two-grand. The merchandise is quite extravagant."

"I'll send one of my men for the ammunition that came with the arsenal. You'll have these by the end of the week. When they're delivered, send the money to this address," she handed him an extra note.

Hamill observed it.

"This hasn't been occupied in for-fuckin'-ever!" he cried out, impressed.

"My things are delivered there. No cops. No suspicion."

"All right, baby, I'll get on this." Hamill stapled the note to his bulletin board. He handed her a labeled document, a contract. "Sign where you usually do. It's honoring our statement that we had a transaction. The deadline that we've agreed is there. Should I refuse payment, you have all the rights of the constitution to blow my fucking head off." Hamill said sweetly.

"Don't you know that I'd hate to do that?" said Chance playfully.

"I know." He handed her a pen. "Just tell me one thing. Two-Face, Crane, Maroni, and this guy—whoever he is. What do they have that I ain't got? I can turn criminal for you if you're into that shit. BDSM, bondage, kinky-kinky," he clicked his tongue. "Come on, sweetie, I know that you don't fall for that regular slow shit."

Chance gave him an amused look.

"That hard-up, huh?"

"For your body, love," said Hamill, with a wink.

"Sorry, Mark. If I cheat, I have _my_ head blown off," said Chance with a grin.

"Is there a reciprocity clause in there if he goes over your head?" asked Mark.

"Yes." Chance said. "But it includes heart ache."

"Well, I tried." Mark shrugged. "I'll get this to you as soon as possible."

"Great doing business with you, Hamill."

"Come back again, baby. Girl like you never ages. You look fan-fucking-tastic."

Chance shined a pearly white grin.

Chance left the pawn shop. Leaving the building, Chance bumped into a body, sending the unexpected man to the ground. He bumped into her, making her fall to the ground as well.

"Oh," groaned the man. "Wow…"

Chance picked herself from the ground to look around.

"Oh, I apologize, sir, I—"

Chance stopped herself. In front of her, he rose to his feet. He dusted his uniform off quickly. A shining badge number sparkled in the sunlight. He was not much older than mid-twenties. Black, cropped hair and dark eyes peered down at her, surprised. The police officer's face didn't harden when he saw her. Instead, he was apologetic. Chance, from the ground, looked at him, confused. Judging by his attitude toward her, he didn't know who she was.

"Oh, miss, I didn't see you!" said the officer, approaching her. She stared at him. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. Here." He offered a hand to her. "Let me help you."

Chance stared at him incredulously.

"Do you speak English?" asked the officer curiously.

When she answered, Chance realized just how her voice sounded. Her accent imitated Bane's. Chance spoke plainly,

"Yes."

"Oh, good. Let me?" he continued to keep his hand outstretched.

Chance considered him.

"You don't trust the police, do you?" asked the officer gently when she didn't react.

"Well, as history repeats itself, not really."

"Oh, damsel in constant distress?" he offered with a cute smile.

"Something…like that," Chance muttered. "Sir, do you know…who I am?"

"We've never met."

Chance stared at him.

"Exactly how long have you been in law?" she asked slowly.

"Oh, a year. I'm a rookie," said the man.

Chance's eyes widened in understanding.

_Ah, apparently he hadn't been given the memo. _

"Oh," said Chance simply. She took his offered hand and helped her to her feet. "What is your name, Officer?"

"John Blake."

Chance smiled at his badge.

"Well," she said with a smile, step-siding him, "it's nice to meet you, Officer Blake."

"John," he corrected her.

Chance gave him a nervous chuckle,

"I'm afraid I know too many Johns."

"Are you all right?" he asked her. "We had a nasty fall just then. Can I give you a ride somewhere? Awfully dangerous to be walking out at this time of night."

"I'm a big girl," said Chance, beaming at him. He fixated on her eyes. "I can tie my shoes and everything."

Blake smiled at her.

"Well, for my pleasure?"

"Sorry, love," said Chance, walking away from him. "I have business."

"Well, just be careful, all right." Blake called after her.

"Oh, I will. Believe me. It's nice to know a cute cop has my back!" she retorted, crossing the street. Chance turned around to see him still staring after her. "What?"

"Sorry!" he called across the side of the street. "You're just so beautiful tonight?"

"Well, thank you!" Chance cried out.

She continued to walk. But she still felt his eyes on her. She turned to see him watching her. They were nearly clear across a few blocks.

"WHAT?" Chance yelled at him.

"SORRY AGAIN! I JUST GOTTA ASK!"

Chance chuckled slightly before screaming at the top of her lungs,

"WHAT WOULD THAT BE?"

"ARE YOU DOING ANYTHING LATER TONIGHT?"

"I'M AM JUST _SWAMPED_!" Chance roared.

"ALL RIGHT! HAVE A GREAT…" he faded.

"WHAT?"

"SORRY! I LOST MY VOICE JUST THEN! I SAID 'HAVE A GREAT _NIGHT_!"

Chance hollered,

"THANK YOU!"

Chance went on her way.

She turned into the restaurant. A high class diner. Chance, with some agitation, noted that this was the same goddamn restaurant that she had owned about twenty years ago before Daggett, Maroni, or anyone else had purchased it on foreclosure or extortion.

She entered through the door. Upon entrance, she was approached by a maitre'd. He apparently took notice of her face, for he hesitated to speak to her.

"Daggett." Chance told him immediately. "Where is he?"

"Up the stairs," said the man quickly, "to the left, in a private box with another young lady. I'll be waiting on you tonight, ma'am…"

Chance handed him a twenty-dollar bill and stuffed it into his main pocket of his vest.

"Good man."

Chance observed the crowd, sickened by the serviced customs of the attendees. The same pious vultures flocked in this restaurant in silver and gold toss-ups, the rich at their ugliest. Chance didn't consider the fact that she seriously looked out of place in her military outfit. Instead, several fearful glances were passed to her as they recognized her face. Chance didn't as much flinch when whispers gathered around her as she approached the stairs. She followed the instruction. Turing left, she approached a closed door.

"_Daggett!"_

A nearby waiter roamed to her, about to assist her.

"Ma'am…"

Chance gave him one look.

"Oh, it's you…" he whispered. He turned the door obediently.

She entered the threshold, giving him a sweet look.

"Good man."

Chance turned to see a black-haired woman, sleek and slim, form-fitted into a spandex suit, seated uncomfortably beside Daggett and Stryver. Chance assumed that this was Selina Kyle. She had a doe-eyed expression in those dark brown eyes, though at the moment, they were vexed. Daggett poured Selina a glass of Champagne. The entire room was naked of anybody else. It was just the two men and Kyle.

"A member of the guard," muttered Selina. Her eyes peered at Chance from behind a black half-mask. "Bit cliché, isn't it, John?"

"Truly," remarked Daggett. Chance frowned. "Sweetie, I figured that you would have been told to dress up. You can't go wrong with a little black dress."

Chance didn't smile at him when he winked at her. Stryver indicated for to sit.

"Please, Chance."

Selina looked at her one more time.

"What odd company you keep, John," said Selina. Apparently she realized who Chance was, though she wasn't terrified like the others in the restaurant. Chance considered the mark of bravery to be overpowering fear due to her present agitation.

"You hate eating here," said Daggett to Chance. "But our money is feeding the poor!"

Chance pulled out a chair and sat down beside Selina and Stryver. Stryver smiled at her.

"I'd offer you alcohol, but you don't drink."

Chance ignored him. She turned to Daggett.

"I've had a long morning. Get to the point."

Selina smiled slightly.

"I wanted you to meet my latest employee. Selina Kyle." Daggett stated.

Unimpressed, Chance nodded.

"An introduction wasn't needed. Her picture is all over the Most Wanted Criminals' database. I should know. I'm one of them." She glanced at Selina and gave her an honorable look. "Impressive."

Selina Kyle retorted,

"Shucks."

Daggett cleared his throat.

"Selina Kyle is going to nab Bruce Wayne's fingerprints. The prints will go to you. Then they'll go to Bane. Bane will use them to manipulate—"

"The stock exchange and then reduced Wayne's profits into your account, yes, _I know this,_" said Chance crossly. "I'm the one that will program the deficits!" She turned to Selina. "You're going to get Bruce Wayne's prints?" Chance said skeptically.

Selina smiled accordingly.

"I'm _that_ good."

"Confidence," noted Chance appreciatively. "What any woman should have in the crime field." She turned to Daggett. "You've brought me here to tell me this."

"You and Selina will be in 'cahoots'. I'm merely informing you."

"A simple call would have sufficed. Unlike you two," she insulted them, "I have other things to do then eat a _$30 veal chop_." She tossed the menu blatantly at Daggett, who was startled at the sudden throw. "I don't even like _veal!_"

Daggett stared at her. Selina widened her eyes, amused. He didn't know what happened. He lowered her down to the seat.

"I know that you're annoyed," said Daggett.

"Good, I'm laying it on pretty hard." Chance snapped at him.

Daggett steadied her with an open hand.

"I invited you here to give you a dinner that you deserve."

Selina scoffed. He obviously said something different to her. Chance sighed impatiently.

"Fine. I'll indulge you. But I'm not promising you anything."

"Good. Good," Daggett said. "Phil, come with me. We'll get the ladies something better than the obviously disappointing veal chop."

The men left the women alone. Selina turned to Chance.

"Exactly how much do you trust him?"

Chance smiled at her.

"Let's see. If this glass was the only water in the entire world and Daggett was dying of unquenchable thirst, I'd drink it myself and make him eat glass." A pause. She drank from it swiftly. "That's just my opinion, though."

Selina smirked.

"You have connections," she said.

Chance nodded.

"In that line of reasoning, I'm going to ask a favor."

"I'm listening," said Chance.

"We both don't trust Daggett." Selina said. "And I'm guessing that he's going to try to pull his weight in order to manipulate you. I don't know the extent of your business with the man. Quite frankly, I don't give a damn. But I know that you know a few things about politics and how these shady businessmen work. You have had dealings with them in the past."

"I'm used to be given clear, concise pointed, Miss Kyle," said Chance. "What are you asking me?"

"I want a way out."

"Daggett's promised you a clean slate." Chance reminded her.

"That's not a secure thing." Selina commented.

"Then what do you want from me?"

"Leverage."

"What sort of leverage?"

"A plan B." Selina answered.

Chance clicked her tongue.

"On Daggett and Stryver."

"I know you know something that'll be useful."

"Hm." Chance considered her. "At first, I didn't like you. But in a few minutes, because you and I don't like Daggett in any parallel universes that might exist. So, I'm going to help you."

Selina smiled.

"Listen," said Chance seriously. "There is a congressman named Byron Gilly. He's not well-liked among the officers in the police department, but his levying tax money and funds are very appreciative. Politics are something that he is especially good at. He's a bit of a pervert," informed Chance. "I've had my own conversations with him. You have to watch yourself around him."

"I can take care of men."

"Good to know," said Chance off-handedly. "Use him as your way out. A kidnapping happens every minute, but once Gilly goes missing, shit hits the fan; the police are out looking for him; they'll have his phone tapped. Now Daggett seriously needs those prints in order for me to get him that money in Wayne's stocks. He will want them, no matter what. Use your normal instincts. Meet him somewhere public"

"Gilly will know that he's being kidnapped."

Chance smiled.

"Gilly's also a reformed alcoholic," she said with a coined hint. "His wife's always home, left alone. His address," said Chance, writing it quickly on the napkin, "is here. She's suspected that he has a mistress in the city. No doubt, Gilly will want to pounce on you."

"I'm not trading sex favors."

"Just use him as a decoy," Chance sighed. "Use his phone to send a lone thumb print. Are you still friends with your prodigy pocket thief? Holly Robinson?"

"Yeah."

"She'll be a good person to have."

"What about Bane?"

Chance's amused look softened.

"What about him?"

"How do I know that I will make it out of the city alive?"

Chance looked, for once, surely entertained.

"You think Bane will send people after you?"

"Yes." Selina confirmed.

"Sweetheart," said Chance with a grin, "he's told me that you intend to leave Gotham. You pose no threat. You cause trouble for Daggett, though, and Daggett tells Bane, you'll be in some trouble. I follow his orders. If I am told to come after you, I'll find you. And I'll have to kill you. I don't want to," said Chance quickly when Selina stared at her, "but I'll have to do it. Insubordination isn't taken lightly where I reside in this city."

"Well, thank you," Selina said, appreciative.

"You're all right, kitten." Chance said.

Daggett and Stryver returned with a waiter.

"Hungry?" asked Daggett considerately.

Chance and Selina exchanged smirks.

"Of course," they said in unison.

Daggett sat down beside Kyle.

"Excellent, Ladies. What will you have?"


	7. Announcements and Considerations

City in Pieces II

Chapter Seven: Announcements and Considerations

"Harvey Dent Day may not be our oldest public holiday," Mayor Anthony Garcia declared, "but we're here tonight because it's one of the most important. Harvey Dent's uncompromising stand against organized crime and, yes, ultimately, his sacrifice, have made Gotham a safer place than it was at the time of his death, eight years ago." Behind the mayor, an engorged photograph was mountain on a stand; candles were lit around miniature portraits of him. Sentimental cards were by his lit candles

A fashionable crowd filled the moonlit grounds of Wayne Estate. Elegant men and woman, representing the cream of Gotham society, listened politely to the mayor's speech as they mingled and chatted amongst themselves. Bright lights dispelled the shadow of the looming manor in its entire restored Gothic splendor, revealing not a hint that the entire edifice had been burned to the ground several years before. Expensive jewelry glittered on women in designer evening gowns, who were escorted by men in tailored silk suits and tuxedos. Champagne glasses clinked. Waiters wove through the party, offering fresh drinks and refreshments. It was a beautiful fall night, and the weather was perfect.

Chance was perched on the very top of Wayne Manor. She had a hearing aide in her ear, binoculars at her advantage. From the secretive spot on the edge of patience, she overlooked the charity event, feeling only contemptuous resentment for the wealthy stigma. She had always felt envious of the money that fell from the heavens to those who deserved nothing more than a bullet through the head. Chance searched for the elusive Bruce Wayne. Chance already knew the reason for his hiding; she had known for many years that the mysterious man behind the bat cowl was the prince of Gotham.

Bane had informed her about twenty years ago about the true identity of the Batman. The woman that Chance had to thank for the information was actually Talia, who knew from her training with Ra's al Ghul that Bruce Wayne had come to the mountains, searching for inner peace, and left when killing was part of the grand design. Chance considered it to be a pity. He would have made a wonderful second-in-command.

No such luck of searching for Gotham's prince. She searched the crowd with much dislike. A frown caught the corners of her mouth when she found Daggett's pious face. Through a few more people, Chance found others: a congressman named Gilly; detectives that Chance dealt with over the years, Stephens, Murphy, Foley, and Harvey Bullock…Her eyes caught the face of John Blake. His adorable mouth was talking to Gordon, who looked rougher around the edges than the last time she had seen him. Chance searched the party with her binoculars. One of the waitresses was Selina Kyle. Chance observed her innocent nature as she served the patrons shrimp balls and white wine in small glasses.

_How do these rich people live with themselves, you ask?_

"They simply," said Chance, zooming in on Daggett, "drink until they think they're sober." A pause. "Then they drink some more."

The mayor continued,

"This city has seen a historic turnaround. No city is without crime. But this city is without organized crime, because the Dent Act gave law enforcement teeth in its fight against the mob.

"Now people are talking about repealing the Dent Act. And to them, I say…not on my watch!"

Enthusiastic applause met his passionate claim. Chance lowered her binoculars to observe the entirety of the throng. She gave credit to them where credit was due; a city like this could show its true colors, if they liked something or truly hated it. She looked up and gazed around her area momentarily, then smiled down at the crowd.

_Isn't that nice…_

Everyone, in _this_ crowd, benefited from the city's improved climate. Although Gotham's major fatalities were eliminated, the people of the Gotham still forgot about the little man. Poverty was still lingering, even if no one could see it. That's why people were turning to the sewers for employment. Chance pursed her lips in repulsion.

"I want to thank the Wayne Foundation for hosting this event," continued the mayor. "I'm told Mr. Wayne couldn't be with us tonight, but I'm sure he's with us in spirit."

Chance raised her head slowly this time, searching the high tops, and then her eyes fell to shadow, standing on his balcony. Chance raised her binoculars hesitantly to the solitary figure, still, and saw the silhouetted etching of a man with a cane. Chance assumed that this was the legendary Bruce Wayne. She had met Batman on many occasions, Chance knew, as she and Batman were not uncommon enemies. She had never met him outside of his suit. He might have been more impressive if he didn't look so crestfallen. A shadow of a man.

Chance sighed. Rachel Dawes might have fell in love with him, hadn't it not been for Batman. She gave a sultry look. There; that's one way that Bruce Wayne could blame Batman for all the shit that happened: Harvey Dent's death, Rachel's death, and the forsaken love life of Gotham's Prince.

"I'm going to give way to an important voice!" said the mayor. "Commissioner."

Commissioner Gordon approached the podium, much like he was going to approach the stand for trial. The mayor continued as Gordon made his way through the crowd.

"He can tell you about the bad old days. When the criminals and the corrupt ran this town with such a tight grasp that people put their faith in a murderous thug in a mask and cape. A thug who showed his true nature when he betrayed the trust of this great man"—the mayor gestured toward the large color portrait of Harvey Dent—"and murdered him in cold blood."

Chance watched Gordon approach the podium with a long speech in his hands. Chance, slightly perplexed, wondered if he was going to finally tell the Gothamites about the real Harvey Dent and what he had truly become, what he really was. After all, Batman, despite the claims of the men in the crowd, was something noble in the eyes of Gotham. Although the caped crusader had thought that Chance was a maniacal woman, out to conquer the city by working with criminals like Crane Two-Face, he had on several times, tried to convince her to wash away the blood and become a good person. In her eyes, she admitted that what Bruce Wayne was trying to accomplish was magnanimous, a sporting affair, but it was one thing to help a few people in trouble; another to try to save a whole city from destroying itself from the inside, then out.

James Gordon was not a stranger to Chance either, and she had noticed that he hadn't flinched when he spoke his name before when he had her locked up in MCU with the Joker. She called him James, though it was probably more offensive if she had called him Jim. Gordon had been another one of Batman who tried to convince her to leave the life of crime and pursue one that would benefit her. At this point, surrender meant death. The cost was dire.

It seemed like a century as Gordon stared at his papers. Chance watched him through the lenses of her binoculars. He hesitated. Then he sighed, "I _have_ a written speech, telling the truth about Harvey Dent." He folded the papers and stuffed them into his jacket, close to his chest. Chance couldn't help but feel some disappointment. _Shame,_ she thought.

"Maybe all that you need to know," said Gordon "is that there are a thousand inmates in Black Gate Prison as a direct result of the Dent Act." Chance's eyes narrowed involuntarily. "These are violent criminals, essential cogs in the organized crime machine that terrorized Gotham for so long. Maybe for now all I should say about Harvey Dent's death is this—it has not been for nothing."

Chance lowered her binoculars. The crowd leaped enthusiastically—all except…Chance glanced up to see Bruce Wayne's figure in the shadows. He retreated back into the upper reaches of the mansion. Feeling as if the more interesting part of the charity event was now over, Chance turned her attention to the throng, once more searching for Miss Selina Kyle. The girl was nowhere to be found, but then again, her job was inside the building. Chance, remained at her seated position for so long, and rose to her feet. The simple movement still irked the slight pains on her back from where Bane enticed her pain tolerance. She practically felt the letters move. Chance followed a line on the roof top, ending up on the center of the surface where a large shaft made of glass was there. She stood on it. Staring through the sheet of glass, Chance saw Selina Kyle, walking through a _very_ nice room.

"Hm," muttered Chance with interest. However, something else irked her hearings aides. Quirking slightly like a cat hearing a mouse, Chance crossed the walk to lean over the side of the building. Scurrying the large crowds, she saw whom she was searching. Daggett, of course, was there, but he approached Miranda Tate almost immediately. Of course, Chance knew that neither of them liked the other. Daggett assumed she was after her job, and Talia didn't like him at all because he was one of the rich snobs.

Apparently, according to the previous statements, Miranda Tate had requested to speak to Wayne again. As always in the past, Bruce declined. Though, it looked like Daggett might have caught fire of it. He walked toward her with the air of the business tycoon that inherited a thriving construction company. By no means was he attractive, on Chance's standards. Had he shown any more self-importance, his suit would rip.

"Don't take it personally, Miranda," said Daggett. "Everyone knows Wayne's holed up in there with eight-inch fingernails, peeing into Mason jars." He added to the butler that heard him, "Alfred…good of you to me on the grounds."

Chance fingered a gun at her hip. _Maybe I could shoot you and be done with it already…_

"The Dent Act," said the butler with obvious dislike, "is about Gotham, even you, Mr. Daggett." He bowed his head to Miranda, and then he left the two of them together.

"Why waste your time?" Daggett asked Miranda. "You're trying to talk to a man who threw away your investment on some save-the-world vanity project. He can't help you get your money back."

"But I can," Talia remarked coolly. "I could try explaining that a save-the-world project, vain or not, is worth investing in, whatever the return. I could try, Mr. Daggett, but you understand only money and the power that you think it buys, so why waste my time, indeed."

Chance would have to send her flowers to thank her for putting that look on Daggett's face as she strode away from him. He scowled at her retreating back.

Chance turned back to the throng, just in time to see Selina Kyle trotting back out of the mansion, wearing a set of pearls that initially hadn't been around her neck when she went in there. As she made her way through the throng, Selina approached the parked cars of the driveway. Chance understood that she retrieved the fingerprints from Bruce, so on her merry time, she left the party with a smile on her face.

Attending Harvey Dent's Dent Day appeased her conscience of his death. So she left without feeling torn.

It was only a day later that it was said that Congressman Byron Gilly hadn't returned home to his wife. The Falcone family and the Maroni family were eliminated after Joker was incarcerated. The idea that he was kidnapped for drug money or a prostitution ring was unheard of, though Bane was sure that Chance had something to do with it. He wasn't ignorant on her stand of grubby men. Although he wanted to know the exact reason of why she advised a stranger to use the congressman as a key in an unknown scheme, he preferred to keep that particular data hidden.

In truly remarkable ways, Bane considered Chance to be more than what she appeared to be. She was quite cunning. Chance was always very persuasive when words or threats were involved. The deepness of her register and the severe way she pronounced her words credited her annunciated form of command. He never cowered to her, knowing that most of the time, she was bluffing. Bane admitted that Chance skills were beyond many in the League of Shadows. Her combat training improved greatly, compared to her fight with Ace and her fight with Batman. Bane felt the same way toward Talia, as well, but the two loves were on different levels. Talia didn't love him as a romantic aspiration, and maybe she didn't reciprocate the exact amount of friendship. He was certain that she had cared enough to come back for him when he was at his weakest. Chance had a right reason to be jealous. Though, he looked at Talia the same way he looked at Chance. Bane wasn't confused. He knew the difference between friendship and romance. Though Talia and Bane were trained by the same mentor, Talia didn't meet him on the intellectual level. She was beautiful and determined, but Chance craved more than simple cooperation from him.

He hadn't been naïve to her advancements. She wanted to know everything. Chance appeared to be his Bane, someone whose true crime was that she loved him. Bane's hard exterior only softened when Chance gave small pleas to him. He wanted that side to go away, but the damn woman didn't ask for much. So when she pleaded for him to resist killing Ace when it appeared that the crazy bitch was about to kill Chance, he enabled her wishes. His weaknesses, God damn them if had more, all concentrated on one figure, and it was covered with blonde hair and blue eyes.

Bane was proud of his Lieutenant. He formed her in a way that he intended for all of his soldiers. Cunning, brilliant, strong, fast, and endurable, Chance was his better half. She wasn't a lap dog. Chance simply _knew_ what needed to be done, and she did it.

Though, he knew that he somewhat stumped her on the plane. He didn't want her to get too comfortable. She was accepted around him as friend and lover, but business was business outside the sewers. She had to keep some respectable boundaries. That was it. Fear him, was what he wanted her to say if someone asked about Bane.

Bane, more on one occasion, considered an heir, out of the womb of Chance. He hadn't permanently decided upon it, but if Talia outran her course, Bane and Chance would do so too. The League of Shadows had to be run someone who deserved it. A boy or girl that was born from Chance's womb and made by the progeny of a man like Bane could be legendary. If the progeny adopted his intellect and her fast-learning abilities, the baby could be as intelligent as the two of them put together in about two years.

He wondered, though, if she was able to give birth at all. For years, Chance tormented her body with alcohol and prescription drugs. It wasn't all her fault, he admitted. He had given her some harsh treatment during her initiation. A gash to the stomach might have rendered her infertile, or perhaps her uterus was too hedge-shaped and a miscarriage would happen. She still carried a scar from that.

Bane considered it. Chance couldn't kill children. Was this because she couldn't have one of her own? It would explain the anguish she suffered when she had to kill Pavel's boy. Or perhaps, it was on a separate note. In storybooks and fairytales, children were the epitome of innocence. Perhaps Chance thought children were born well.

He wondered. But that night, he was going to come up front with it. He wondered what she would say.


	8. Cross-Examination

Author's Note/Disclaimer: Thank you for the reviews! I've read your reviews about your hopes of Chance and Bane producing a progeny. Currently, I'm brainstorming ideas for a possible pregnancy, though I'm not taking a permanent stand yet. I enjoy hearing from all of you. I want to give credit to Greg Cox's novel that follows the movie. It's helping me remember all these quotes from the last few chapters. As usual, enjoy this chapter.

City in Pieces II

Chapter Eight: Cross-Examination

Chance's fingers flicked over the hovering screens in the ad hoc command center, switching through the databases. She was pleased to see that Mark Hamill did his end; in their assets, the arsenal capacity widened, and the old rifles and pistols were taken off their hands. Chance drew up the image of their financial statements. A smile passed her face when she saw the 2 and three 0's follow. Chance passed a hand across the screen, swiping it once more. The news watched her from the middle of the room. The congressman was still missing. She didn't pay much heed to it. From behind her, she heard footsteps.

"I thought," Chance said calmly, "that I told you that whenever Daggett tries to contact me, I didn't want his calls…" Her eyes never shifted from the computers. The lights danced in her eyes, mocking colors into them as her hands swiped, pulled, zoomed, and shuffled information and profiles across the screen, simple maneuvers.

The rumbling voice disagreed with her,

"Why would you not want to accept Daggett's calls, Chance?"

She was startled. Chance turned around to see Bane standing behind her. She stepped back a few paces, leveling eyes with him. Towering over her like a massive sky scraper, she smiled at him with ease, realizing who it was.

"I might have given him some trouble a couple days ago," mentioned Chance delicately.

"Lieutenant," said Bane, and the way he spoke her name, Chance already knew, with a sinking feeling, that he wasn't pleased. She tried to play it off. _Perhaps he'd be all right with Selina's back-up plan…Perhaps…_

"What did you do?" he asked her.

"Oh," she waved at a hand at him playfully, "it's nothing to worry about. It's really none of our concerns, technically."

Bane disagreed.

"Whatever you do to complicate our plans disfigures the entire operation." Bane told her with disapproval.

"I haven't '_complicated_' the mission, _Sir,_" said Chance, side-stepping him.

She pushed past him, or…she attempted it. Bane held out an arm that would have clotheslined her if she were running. Halted by his blockade, Chance sighed, standing in place. Bane turned on his heel to stride behind her. How he could always manage to make her feel less in charge than she imagined she was in reality was something remarkable. His control over her, admittedly so, never gave in, not since the day that they met. Within her mind, Chance understood that the reasoning behind it was most like Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, lingering over her as the time progressed, living with her captor. That and she might have been subjected to Stockholm Syndrome.

Whatever the reason that made her gut clench when he disappeared out of her sight, she felt him behind her, and at some level, she still enjoyed it. He was quite a man.

"I do not enjoy alterations in my plans, Chance. You," he said, setting a hand on the back of her shoulder, "should know this better than anyone." His fingers caressed her neckline. Then his hand caressed the frontal region of her throat. On instinct, Chance gulped nervously as two of his fingers stroked the obvious point of her jugular.

"Tell me," he said quietly, "what you have done."

"Nothing to be concerned about, Sir." Chance answered sincerely. He could feel vibrations along her neck when she spoke. The fact that he could do this was making her uneasy, but guilty pleasures weren't guilty for anything. She bit her lip slightly out of arousal.

"I _am_ the League of Shadows," said Bane in her ear, and this made her shudder. "Don't you think that by _now_"— his free hand gathered her waist and pulled her straight back to him, emitting from her a startled gasp—"you would know that I might this a bit of a concern."

"Daggett's not a concern. It doesn't matter."

Bane sighed.

"Wrong on both accounts."

"Fine," Chance surrendered quietly. "Selina. I helped Selina."

"The jewel thief," assumed Bane without inaccuracy. He instantly set her aside. Chance watched him walk toward the door. He turned to her. "Return Daggett's calls, Chance. When I'm away, he is your concern."

Chance reached for his arm. Bane stopped when her hand wrapped around his wrist. He looked at her considerately.

"Had you not heard me say that I wasn't talking to Daggett," said Chance, "why did you want to talk to me? You weren't eavesdropping; you simply came into the room and heard me say it. I thought you were Barsad."

Bane gave her the sincere look. She searched his eyes for meaning.

"It can wait." Bane said. His voice was soft. Chance returned a perplexed look, but he didn't say more.

Chance watched Bane leave the room; her eyes devoured his image. When he left, she turned clicked a few numbers on the computer screen in front of her. In the room, a dialing tone began. It rang about twice, and then the other line picked up.

"Selina," said Chance hastily, "what—?"

"He double-crossed me with Stryver," said Selina's voice. Obviously, she was angry.

"Calm down, Selina…"

"Don't tell _me_ to be calm."

Chance raised her eyebrows, amused.

"Selina, please. It's fine. You called me; obviously, you're not in jail."

"What if I used you to be my one phone call?" her voice was derisive.

"Your attitude is a tad stale; I'm not crazy about it, right now." Chance folded her arms across her chest. "Your situation, Selina. How bad is it?"

"Why do you want to help me, anyway?" she asked Chance suspiciously. "I shouldn't have gone with Daggett's plans. These men are corrupted, every one of them."

Chance crossed her arms. She considered it.

"What," she asked slowly, "exactly did Daggett promise you?"

"A clean slate. Rykin Data used it for Beta Testing. It's a program created on a flash drive. If I were to insert my name and birthdate into the register, it would wipe my criminal record clean, and I could begin again with a new name, new life. '_Clean Slate'._"

"What_ happened_?"

"I arrived there with Gilly after I left Wayne's mansion. Stryver had men there waiting. It was supposed to be a simple transaction." Selina said surely. "I wanted to do this and disappear. Stryver threatened my life, so I did your plan. They still managed to get the prints. He called me a loose end. _You_ said that I would be let _go._"

"I understand that you're upset, but—"

"I'm not upset_—_I'm _furious!_" Selina roared into the line. The room erupted with Catwoman's voice.

"I'll handle it!" Chance said defiantly into the computer. "I can understand your anger, but I won't tolerate your methods of dealing with wenches and cutthroats!" Silence answered her, but she could hear Selina sighing out of frustration. "I'll talk to Stryver and Daggett. Trust me; I'm not too thrilled that they didn't just give you what you agreed upon. Did Stryver use the congressman's cell phone? Is that how you were sabotaged?"

"The SWAT team came in when he used Gilly's phone."

"Good_ girl,_" congratulated Chance, pleased.

"_Chance._"

"I'll fix it," assured Chance gently. "I'll talk to Daggett and Stryver. I was told that they weren't coming after you. As I understand it, you and I share some common ground."

"I hate the rich and steal from them. We have nothing in common." Selina said in ruthless honesty.

"Both wanting to see the city burn. A storm's coming, Miss Kyle." Chance said with a smile on her face.

"I appreciate your help, but I'm still stuck."

"I've got to communicate with Daggett anyway. I'll discuss it later," she assured Selina. "I needed to make sure that you weren't in trouble."

"Why do you care?"

"As I said: we have common ground."

Silence answered her once more, then the dial tone. Selina hung up on her.

Daggett stepped away from his desk, poured another glass of wine, and sipped it, gazing out the window. He was working late. Daggett withdrew a cell phone from his coat pocket. He checked his missing calls, and yet he was disappointed.

Daggett strode toward the door to peek through the hole, wondering perhaps if Bane's mercenary was there. He sipped his wine. Then he jumped a little when his cell phone started going off. He looked at the window and saw her name across the banner. He answered the phone furiously,

"Chance, you get down here now, you psycho bitch!"

Then something pelted against his head with such force that he stumbled forward and hit the door, face first. Daggett groaned painfully, surely expecting a bump to form where it was hit. He looked down to see a second cell phone lying there at his feet. He saw the banner across the stray phone's banner, and on it, he read his name…on the line.

Daggett, gripping the wine glass with some difficulty, turned around to see Chance perched on his desk. Her knees bent and her elbows posed on the balls of her kneecaps. Daggett had a hard time trying to hide his shock. Though, he managed to regain the composure from the slight scare by hanging up his cell phone. He glanced at the hand held at his feet and saw his name disappear, a '_Call Ended'_ banner appeared, and the phone's screen went black.

Daggett drank down the wine. Chance merely stared at him. It was obvious in her face.

Chance didn't appreciate his snide comment, and she said nothing when he tried to speak to her. Bane obviously never referred to her as such a term; and if he had, Chance wouldn't take it from him. Daggett searched the windows and the ventilation shaft, but nothing was disturbed.

"How prompt…" Daggett said, staring at her.

"The psycho bitch," said Chance bristly, "was on her way to see the tycoon cunt."

Daggett bit his lip at her vulgar point, but he didn't argue it. He nodded.

"Chance," said Daggett, suddenly honey-sweet, smiling, "I didn't even see you enter my office."

"No one does." Chance sighed.

"A comfort notion."

"As any."

Chance climbed down from his desk. Daggett picked up her cell phone from the floor and tossed it toward her. She caught it simply. She set her hands on her hips. Daggett approached with the wine glass in his hand.

"I've met Bane once or twice, and yet he keeps sending his messenger," he observed. "I'm not sure I like speaking to his second-in-command." When Chance didn't answer, he approached her. "I know what you're thinking. As I understand it, you and Bane are on a direct-point basis. This means that you skip the bullshit and get straight to the point."

"Yes," said Chance flatly. "So get to the point."

Daggett shrugged blamelessly.

He withdrew an envelope from within his coat pocket and handed it to her.

"Wayne's prints."

Chance took the envelope from him.

"I do have a problem with you."

"What issue is that? Something that dinner and a movie won't suffice?"

Chance stared at him in distaste.

Daggett shrugged.

"Wine talking. What's your problem with me?"

"You had your man, Stryver, make an attempt Miss Kyle's life two nights ago."

Daggett appeared to immediately sober.

"Oh, my dear," he sighed, "that's nothing to worry about."

Chance narrowed her eyes at him.

"I'm not your _dear_, and you know exactly why I'm not too happy about that. Selina," she pressed on when Daggett looked confused, "was not too be harmed. I was told that Stryver tried to _kill_ her.

"Men waited around until he was able to get the prints," she said angrily, her temper rising, as she started toward him; Daggett stared at her, slightly alarmed. "And instead," she approached him, so he started walking backward, "of just giving her what you agreed upon, you had your man try to have her—

"KILLED!"

Her voice erupted in the room. Daggett startled and fell against the door. She backed away from him when she finally got her point across. Her eyes were blazing at him. Daggett composed himself, pushing himself off the door. He smiled slightly at her.

"She was a loose end," he said. "It was going to be simple. She's caused some problems in the past."

Chance chuckled. "_I've_ caused problems in the past."

Daggett shrugged.

"I understand why you're angry."

Chance sighed.

"I'm not happy that you _lied_ to Selina about a clean slate."

Daggett stared at her.

"I didn't lie."

"I know you did. I know you are. I looked through the databases earlier and found out that Rykin never used anything called '_Clean Slate_'. It's a myth. It's a sham. It's all a fucking lie. And you fed this to Selina in order for her to get Wayne's prints so that you could selfishly take control of Wayne Enterprises. You're an ass."

"I'm a tycoon, Chance." Daggett informed her.

"You're a jackass with money stuffed under your mattress," stated Chance turbulently.

"Chance, she got away. It's fine." Daggett sighed, drinking his wine. "She tripped up the operation. I already punished Stryver."

"Oh, really?" Chance condescended. "Punish how, exactly? Handing him a Benjamin Franklin? Did you tell him to go fuck himself?" Daggett was amazed at just how angry she was. "Prostitution is making the top 3%, dear business man. With the face like him, he'd _have_ to pay someone to bend him over. Depending on whether he enjoys receiving or giving; though I highly doubt he's a giver—you and Stryver run in the same crowds of take, take, take, take!"

Chance turned on her heel to step toward the window. Daggett sipped from her wine.

"I imagine that Ace"—Chance halted with her back to him—"is enjoying prison. She's quite the firecracker. I wonder how many men have jumped her bones already. The last I heard from my guy who runs that prison, he said that Ace was hauled up in solitary confinement, and she's refused to eat. Apparently, she is suffering from some depression. I can't imagine why. Have you heard anything of that sort?"

Chance closed her eyes. She ignored him the best she could. Ace was fine. She was stronger than anybody that Chance knew in Gotham. She was handling herself. Chance turned to Daggett.

"When Ace and I worked together, I was more restrained and confined to a modus operandi of a gentlewoman's approach to crime. Ace was far wilder, and God knows that she had no moral fiber."

Daggett watched her, wondering where the point was going.

"Once we hit a bank, and these two officers tried to arrest us. She killed one with his night stick; a hit across his neck paralyzed him if ever he lived through it. The second officer wasn't so lucky. She castrated him without any hesitation, with a smile on her face the entire time."

Daggett's mouth started to flicker, agitated.

"Ace is strong, Daggett. She won't mind doing that to you, should she break out of prison."


	9. Endure

City in Pieces II

Chapter Nine: Endure

Chance handed Bane the envelope, sealed with Bruce Wayne's fingerprints.

"It took you an hour to retrieve these?" questioned Bane, looking at the full prints in the shining ray of a flash light.

"Daggett was tipsy," said Chance, taking the ponytail out of her head. A cascade of blonde hair fell down her shoulders. She removed her Marine's coat and sat on the bed, a dark black top speculating her breasts. Chance glanced at Bane, tired. Bane didn't argue the matter. Daggett was annoying in all manners of the word. Dealing with a drunken Daggett was probably hard to tolerate. He let it go.

Bane, dressed in black cargo jeans, combat boots, and bare-chested, sat down beside her on the cot, observing her face. Chance winced when she moved for the dresser drawer. Her probing hand found the bottle of Oxycontin. As she tried to pry the child-proof cap from its gripping wedges, Bane gently set his hand on the entirety of the scene, stopping her attempts immediately. She furrowed her brow from slight confusion, though it was from frustration. Her back was killing her. The scarring wasn't going fast enough. Some pain relief was what she wanted. Even for a few seconds.

Bane wouldn't have thought of it at all for her continue her addiction to her fast relief, but his pressing matter had to come forward. With no word to the explanation, Bane withdrew the small bottle from her weakened hands, approached a falling sewer fall, and tossed it out into the rushing waters. He watched it fall. When he turned to look at her, Chance was searching through more drawers.

"Chance."

"I just need one more," she muttered. "My back is just murder right now."

Bane approached Chance from behind. He drew her hands out from the dresser drawer. To her dismay, he closed it. His other hand ceased her arms. Chance wondered why he wasn't letting her have at least one.

"It's not an overdose." Chance told him gently. "I can regulate it."

"I've seen you eat these like tic-tacs," said Bane. Chance, her back against his stomach, sighed impatiently. When she tried to turn in his arms, he kept her still. Chance winced again as the growing heat among his etched name along her shoulders started to burn.

"Please, it's worse than ever." Chance whispered. Her wrists were closed together by her lover's hand. His other wrapped around her waist.

"Bear it."

"It's not a life lesson, Bane. I've been addicted before. I've kicked the habit. I'm in terrible pain, I—"

Bane set a finger against her lips. Chance closed her eyes as a surging fire burned her flesh along her middle back. She found herself enjoying the after effects of the dagger along her flexing shoulders. His cool skin behind her clashed with the rising inflammation in her wounds. Chance leaned against his body willingly. He continued to shackle her wrists with his fingers, keeping her balling fists together. Chance saw his hand fall from her lips, to outline her jaw, along her collarbone, to sweep so casually along her peaked breasts. Chance flexed her fingers in his grasp.

Her hunger was always there. The fires were never extinguished. Dormant ashes on the floor that could spark once heated. She loved his dominance over her, and enjoyed just how torturous he could make her feel. Her face burned as his fingers walked their way to her trousers. A single digit caressed a breathing mound, hidden by her pants and low-dipped underwear. Chance moved her hips slightly to his teasing hand. Her mouth fell open at his tantalizing touch.

"Mm…" her teeth grazed her bottom lip.

"Pain is an illusion," he told her. He grasped her hands and held them together in front of her, in control. Fingers left her legs and slipped underneath her shirt. Chance's back flexed, following an immediate pain, as his hand traced his name on her flesh. "You've learned to overcome it," he said softly. Her shoulders rose deliciously when his fingers climbed her spine. Such a delicate touch, though a tasty outcome perceived that it was just the smallest thing that could set her on fire.

"I overcome it?" she said in a breathless voice, positively aroused by his use of the word. "I bear it."

"Why is that?"

His hand pressed against the wound along the spine. She winced, startled, but her voice uttered with guilty pleasure,

"Mm…Because I like it."

"Is that why you endure this?" he gestured to the wound with a single finger following each letter in turn. "Because you _like_ it?"

Chance nearly stretched in his arms. Bane saw her mouth fall open slightly; she squeezed her eyes in sweet craving, finding her voice with some difficulty.

"Oh, yes," she whispered, "it has to be."

Bane turned to sit on the edge of the bed. He set Chance in between his legs on the ledge of the mattress. His hand released her arms; it took her hair instead, pulled her head to his shoulder. Chance met his eyes. His own were watching in his own pleasure. He admitted that he enjoyed her submission. She surrendered herself to him. She couldn't help it. Chance leaned back against his chest, wanting him ever more.

Glimpses of him in the plane, taking charge of the situation, so calm—He was the epitome of collection. The first time she met him, he frightened her most of all because she couldn't fight him in the slightest. The passionate love-making over the years. The way he lifted Ace up into the air when Bane believed that Ace was going to kill Chance. How he clobbered Joker and his men when he threw Ace into the wall.

These snapshots of him at his best moments created a sordidly erotic montage in Chance's mind as Bane wrapped one of his hands around her chin. With the other, suddenly flummoxed, Chance watched him slowly take off his mask for the second time in seventeen years. Chance's eyes fluttered when he pulled it off. He was scarred, though scars faded over time. His lungs inhaled quite a bit of the medication before he withdrew Chance's creation off his face. Bane took his hand around Chance's chin and opened her mouth with his thumb. She melted, weakened, as he slipped his tongue into her mouth without her permission.

Bane's own weakness for her grew stronger through the years. At many points in time, it was frustrating to him just how attractive she remained: no matter how many times she was bludgeoned, or cut, or even stabbed, that pretty face always healed to Raphael's depiction of a forsaken angel. Bane's stomach tossed as she returned his engrossed kiss with matching, if not stronger, vigor. Her teeth sank into his tongue in playful nibble. Chance raised her hands to his face, wanting to deepen a forbidden kiss, but Bane arrested her wrists, pulling them aside. Bane entangled her hair in his hand, pulling her head back to render her unable to fight back, even if she wanted to. Chance heard him emit a pleasurable moan, and it sent rapid chills all through her body, boiling her blood in undeniable lust.

Chance's chest heaved slightly at a quickened rate. Her fingers craved to touch him. He could feel her hands moved beneath his one, but he quietly relished her frustration.

He inflamed her loins—A painful, though simultaneously delectable sensation caused Chance to wet her panties, hot and needy. Bane released her chin loosely and dropped to her heaving breasts. Chance moaned into Bane's mouth. His hand dropped further down, landing on her concealed, throbbing want with little trepidation. Through the rough material of her Marine trousers, he simply, walked his fingers along her pulsing clit. Chance pulled away from his kiss. She set her head on his shoulder, gritting her teeth in a rising agony as her walls secreted again. Chance's involuntary motion in her legs insisted to close; Bane grabbed one of her thighs and pushed it away. His lips marked his territory on her reddening neck as she flushed with immediate excitement. Chance uttered a wanton moan as he trailed a single finger up the lining of her trousers, cupping her more seriously. Bane smirked as her pelvis bucked into his hand.

"What are you doing to me?" she breathed as he gently massaged her throbbing pain beneath her clothes. His lips kissed behind her ear; then in her ear, he said in a deep voice,

"Torment comes in many forms, Chance."

He tapped her through her pants. She backed up into his chest, sending shivers of agony through her wounded back. Chance uttered a mixed moan. Her hands grabbed his legs in obvious want. He could feel her fingernails attempt to rip through the material.

"Oh, what's so bad about this, Chance?" he asked her.

"I'd confess military secrets by now," she breathed.

"That's not a good answer."

Chance whimpered as he mockingly fingered her through her clothes. Chance's hips bucked against his probing digits, sending a wave of helplessness and desire through her body.

"Oh, God!" she cried out. She turned to Bane's lips and swept her tongue through them hungrily. Bane closed his eyes. He fought her greedy mouth with some effort. She was quite a little beast.

Bane slipped his hand under her trousers and found her panties wet. Smirking, he teased her by pushing his fingers through such delicate cloth into her heated body. Chance widened her leg spread, uttering a passionate yelp of delight. He enjoyed her reactions. He could build on her desires.

"Oh. Please." Chance pleaded with him as he flicked his tongue pass her swollen lips.

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want," said Chance dismissively as her hips moved into a thrust against his fingers. She held herself up slightly by two strong arms .

"Tell me."

"Make me come," she said deliberately, without shame. "Please, Sir."

He moved her pants out of his way and pushed his middle finger through a slickened way.

"Oh, yeah…" Chance moaned, "Oh, thank you, sir…"

"Mm, what have I told you about that?" Bane said diplomatically.

He threatened her with a flick of her pulsing bud, sending her thrashing against him. The burning sensation clouded her mind. He held her still.

"Oh, please," Chance begged, rising slightly off the bed. "I want it. I need it. Oh, God…"

Bane kissed her neck.

"Oh, you're showing weakness. Be strong, Chance."

His hand left her trousers, but he was intrigued when she slipped her own hand down in her underwear. She teased herself.

"You really are one of your kind," he told her.

She reached for his hand and slid his palm down her underwear.

"Please…" Chance uttered, squirming as his fingers tugged at her.

"Mind yourself," said Bane moderately. He slipped a finger inside her, flustering her tense body in a dirty fuck.

"Oh! Yes…" she moaned leaning forward.

Her hips bucked against his probing fingers.

"Good girl," he uttered into her ear.

That sent her over the edge, for she cried out in a breathless gasps as she came violently in her pants. Bane kept her still as she whimpered his name. Bane watched her hips buck wildly against his head.

"Oh, don't stop, don't stop," she pleaded him. She rose slightly from where she sat, riding his fingers deliciously. "Oh…"

Her hips stopped swaying.

Calming, she lowered herself back to the bed, calm and resilient.

She watched Bane put his mask back on.

"I need to talk to you about a sensitive subject…"

However, he was interrupted when they heard shouting outside room. Chance and Bane glanced at each other. The matter would have to wait. Shooting, screaming, and grunts could be heard throughout the sewer. If it was a drug raid, these officers were stupid.

"I'll see what's going on, Bane." Chance said gently. She kissed his cheek fleetingly. Bane watched her, in a tank top and those trousers of hers, walk out swiftly to rally the troops.


	10. Assumptions Are Not Valid

The City in Pieces

Chapter Ten: Assumptions Are Not Valid

Chance armed her body with pistols and a machine gun, ran through the walkways and screamed to the entire battalion to rally through the entrance of the sewers. The few that were still working on improving the expansion and highlights of the lair continued on with their work; Barsad, Butch, Whiskey, String, and Wick hastened to their second-in-command's call. Chance stepped toward the entrance to the lair, and stared into the darkness of the corridors. The air was mixed with gun powder and smoke, the death of rodent, and the unpurified water grates. She wrinkled her nose. 50 men steadied behind her. She gestured for them to go inside.

"Stay along the wall," she instructed them. "Use your training. Don't be reckless," she noted them with conviction. In their ear pieces as they passed her through the corridors, her voice instructed with sure finality, "_Just wound them._"

Chance stepped into the dank and dark slowly. She could hear footsteps, but they weren't matching to her men. She glanced around her. They were quiet, steady, and stealthy. They might as well haven't been breathing. She smirked, proud. Chance knew that they were now engaging their infrared goggles, placing them over their heads. They would be able to see her body pass them and see each other.

"Once you see the intruders," said Chance in a low voice, "shoot."

Her low register made a slight echo in the pitch black rooms. Chance saw a rain of flash light glows in the distance. That must have been them. Then two unidentified bodies shot out of the darkness, panting heavily—Chance grabbed the two bodies by their clothes and shoved them to the floor. She aimed her machine gun into their faces, ready to mark them as deceased, however—

"Lieutenant, Lieutenant," said the two men in hushed voices. "It's us, we're one of you."

Chance recognized the two rookies easily. Slightly annoyed, she said in a low furious tone,

"On your _feet." _ Chance glanced at the lurking lights behind her, and then turned to the two men in front of her. "You brought the police down here? What's wrong with you, two?"

"I'm sorry, Chance, we were doing a mission—"

Chance slapped him across the face, forestalling his excuses.

"_You brought them here!_" said Chance in a harsh whisper. "They'll see _everything._"

Then the policemen drew their flashlights on her. The hidden agents around her hailed gunfire on her. Although Chance had ordered them to merely wound the soldiers, she was sure that only a few were doing what she told them to do. The lights on her when the police found them had panicked several of her men. Chance bounced away from the scene, knowing that the police would turn back, and her men would return to work as usual. She caught Bane, who was sitting on a chair in front of the bed. Chance, sweating and out of breath, appeared in front of him.

"Sir," she said accordingly, "we have a slight problem."

"What do you mean by 'slight'?"

Before Chance could answer, she saw the same two rookies heaving a body through the sewer. Around them, armed men in military fatigues watched the arrivals suspiciously. Chance looked at the rookies behind Bane with disapproval and warning in her eyes. He wasn't going to like this.

Chance stepped pass the seated Bane to glance at a wounded officer. But Chance's stomach rolled when she recognized the bespectacled, uniformed officer. She lowered the machine gun at her side. Chance glanced at Bane, who rose to his feet, broad-backed and bare-chested. Chance could only imagine what he must have appeared to the rookies. Chance waited with bated breath to see his reaction, but he said from behind his mask in a calm voice,

"Why are you here?"

Chance glanced at the officer on the ground. The two rookies kicked him in the shin, rousing him from a complacent reverie from the gunshot to his leg. Chance leaned forward to gaze at the man. Commissioner Gordon was fading in and out of consciousness, but she met his eyes, and he met hers. Chance raised her head to look at Bane, who turned around to stare at the rookies.

"Answer him!" said one of the rookies, kicking Gordon again."

"I'm asking _you_," Bane clarified.

"It's the police commissioner," one of them volunteered. Chance automatically knew that she was right; Bane did not look pleased.

"And you," he asked, "brought him down here?"

"We didn't know what to do," the other man confessed, trying to explain, "We—"

"You panicked," Bane said, cutting him off. "And your weakness cost the lives of three others."

The flunky looked around in confusion. He glanced at Chance with hope, but she shook his head. She already knew his fate. He tried to rebuttal,

"No, he's alone—"

Bane lunged forward with surprising speed. Before the man could complete his sentence, Bane seized the man's throat and squeezed. The lifeless body of the rookie fell forward, landing in front of Chance's feet. She gazed at it with some pity, but then turned, unmasked, toward the remaining man in front of Bane. Chance's expression was wide-eyed, but still, she held respect for him. He meant business.

Bane turned to the remaining the thug. He nodded in Gordon's direction.

"Search him," he ordered. "Then I'll kill you."

The blood drained from the rookie's face. His knuckles tightened around Gordon's disarmed pistol. He glanced around anxiously, no doubt searching for a way out, only to see Bane's guards hefting their weapons. Chance was glad to see that they, all around her, wore battle-hardened expressions on their sallow faces, professional mercenaries. Escape was not an option.

The man held onto Gordon's gun for a moment, but Chance stepped forward. Bane glanced at her as she passed him. The man at Gordon's body looked up at her.

"The pistol, recruit," said Chance, holding out her hand for him to put the weapon in her palm. He hesitated. Chance stared at him. She definitely wasn't going to save him. He was forfeit when the police were heading down the sewers.

Mournful resignation came over the man's face. He weakly handed her the gun. Chance pocketed it in her trousers, glancing at Bane, who merely gave her one of his understanding looks. The recruit searched Gordon's jacket and clothes, obtaining a wallet, badge, and several sheets of paper. He handed the items over to Bane, who briefly examined them, one by one. He tossed the badge and wallet to Chance, who pocketed them as well.

He unfolded the sheets of paper in his hands to gaze at them. Chance already knew what that was. It was Gordon's speech. Chance looked back down at the commissioner, who met her eyes again. They were pleading her. Chance turned back to Bane. He handed her the papers for her to see.

Chance looked at him.

"Three pages, not much of a speech," said Chance, looking at it. She flipped them over, and then smiled at her commander. "However, three pages front and back—now he really must have something to say."

Bane, only a little amused by her comment, turned to read them.

Chance looked at Gordon's direction; however, she looked at him just in time to see—

Gordon rolled off the edge of the landing into rushing waters. The atmosphere rose as the League of Shadows focused their ammunition on the straying body of Commissioner Gordon, who was well away by the time that the agents started shooting. Chance glanced at Bane, who was looking at the now barren waters. The remaining rookie, who was still alive, turned back to Bane and Chance with hope.

"He's dead," the fool insisted.

Chance doubted it. Gordon had been shot just last year and survived a bullet in the chest. He was an officer that couldn't be killed. Chance watched Bane, who looked up from Gordon's speech to meet the eye of the frightened recruit.

"He has to be," guaranteed the rookie.

"Then show me his body," Bane told him.

He tucked Gordon's papers into his belt. Chance could definitely tell that he was thinking of all the ways he could use the revelations.

Bane approached him.

"That water flows to any of the outflows," the man protested. "We'd never find him!"

Bane considered that. He turned to his Lieutenant.

"Your GPS, Chance."

Chance unhooked a beeping device from her belt, activated it, and tossed it obediently to her commander with little reluctance. She set her hands on her hips, watching him with absolute fascination. Bane saddled the recruit with GPS in his pocket. Chance watched him zip up his hoodie.

"Follow him," Bane told him.

"Follow?" the recruit questioned.

Chance watched Bane hold the gun to the man's stomach, and then he pulled the trigger. Chance watched the body fall into the water to be carried out through the same hole as Gordon's. He turned to Barsad, who, like Chance, held the look of being impressed.

"Track him," said Bane. "Make sure both bodies are not found. Then brick up the south tunnel."

Chance smirked slightly. Bane met her eyes.

"Why are you smiling?" he asked her.

"I was just remembering that when you and I met," she said, setting her hand on his shoulder, "I blew up the exact same tunnel." She clicked her tongue. "We should really get rid of that manhole up there. That's how I found this. That's how _they_ found us."

"If the police should find Gordon," said Bane, "it will be certain that they will know of our existence."

"They're bound to find out anyway," said Chance, striding toward the bed. "A lot of this happens for a reason. Not of it is unplanned, really."

Bane clicked his tongue from behind his mask. He strode toward his Lieutenant and sat down beside her.

"That reminds of me…"

"Oh, right," recalled Chance, "you needed a word with me."

Bane cleared his throat. Sure, he could kill a man; yes, he could talk about the ways of how a person could suffer and not even budge. However, the aforementioned progeny was giving him some difficulty; so therefore, he caught himself searching the room for some kind of inspiration. Chance waited, pleasant.

He approached her gently.

"Ra's al Ghul is immortal in a philosophical perspective," said Bane. "He isn't physically immortal; after all, the reason why Talia wants to have Bruce Wayne under the ground _is_ because he murdered her father. Talia is, by result, the heir of the League of Shadows. However, she has no existing mate," said Bane.

Chance gave him a look.

"I'm not sure exactly where this is going, but I don't think I like it."

Bane pressed on,

"Talia has no existing mate because she _chooses_ not to," he said pointedly. He saw the look of relief on her beautiful face. Then he continued normally,

"Since Talia does not have a provider, she has no way of bearing an heir."

Chance already understood; he could tell it in her face, for she nodded. She also looked slightly crestfallen. Chance set a hand on his.

"You're wanting a progeny," said Chance gently.

"An heir, yes." Bane told her. "I want to make it clear to you. In the past, I've observed couples, and they are quite…_involved…_when a newborn is brought into the world, and they show specific amounts of care toward their girl or their boy. Our relationship with our successor would be complacent and platonic. He _or she_ would be our legacy, not a child of our bearing."

Chance nodded with understanding.

"_Just_ to lead these people?" she indicated the latter in the lair.

"You understand, then."

Chance gave him a generous smile.

"Of course, I understand. I was wondering when you might bring this up, actually. It's not the best thing in the world for me to break it, especially, to a man like you."

He knew what she was going to say before she said it.

"I'm not able to bear life," said Chance lightly.

He stared at her. He could hear that she might have rehearsed that line over and over. Despite how many times she might have done it, it seemed so easy in her voice, but Bane had learned that her eyes were the open pit into her true heart, so when he searched the open book, he saw that she was also hurt that she couldn't bear own children. He didn't say anything.

Though he had told her that their mere upbringing would be to use the child as their heir, Bane couldn't help but feel a little put-out.

"What caused it? How long have you known?" he asked her.

"The alcohol, the drugs," said Chance gently. "The stress, the lifestyle. The injuries that I've had in the past…"

Bane closed his eyes. The scar on her stomach; how many times he broke her body during training. Chance looked horrified. She rose to her feet almost instantly. She set her hands on his face gingerly.

"Don't look at me like that." Chance said in a comforting tone. "I know that face. It's _not_ your fault. It's mine."

Bane opened his eyes to see the hardened expression on her face.

"It's _not_ your fault." Chance repeated seriously. "And," she sighed, "I've known for quite a while." She let her hands fall from his face to sit down beside him. "We've had coitus for a while, Bane. After all this time, those nights when we _never_ used any protection, don't you think that it seemed too lucky?"

"Teenagers," said Bane, "can get pregnant after one time." He looked at her. "I didn't hurt you before our first encounter."

"Lucky, then," assumed Chance, shrugging.

Bane pondered something for a moment. He turned to her, forward.

"Chance, have you been _told_ that you are infertile?"

Chance looked at him.

"I know that I am."

"Have you ever seen a gynecologist?"

"No."

"Professional doctor? Midwife?"

"No."

Bane gave her a pointed look. "Then how do you know that you are, medically accurate, infertile?"

Chance stared at him.

Bane sighed.

"Would you refuse the opportunity to see a specialist?" he asked her.

"I'm certainly not going to see anybody in that hospital. Things have happened to Gotham General!" she said.

"I'm not taking you to the hospital." Bane told her seriously. "During my term in Bulgaria while you were here, working with Ace and the Joker, I happened along a man who worked—_works—_as a midwife in the country."

To Chance's curious face, he said,

"He's well-known for having procuring powers of procreation."

"'_Powers'?_" Chance said skeptically.

"By a right of a deity that may or may not exist, this man claims that he can sense the presence of life in a woman's womb." Bane explained. "I've personally watched him do his specialty on a female who attempted to commit suicide, and he forestalled her attempt when he 'worked his magic' on her stomach. Nine months later, she gave birth to a girl," said Bane.

Chance uttered a noise of one being intrigued. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Well, quite frankly," she said in a sigh, "I'm interested in seeing the credibility of man who can tell if a woman's pregnant or not without her showing. Quite a bizarre gift to be given, especially to a man."

Bane rose to his feet.

"Not all men are adolescent when their mates are about to give birth, Chance," he said, taking a phone out from his jean pocket. To her expression, he retorted, "But most of them are."

If she was pregnant, she might as well have killed it with her drug abuse and reckless brawls. Seventeen years passed and she never felt anything inside that made her aware that there was something growing.

"If I am," said Chance hesitantly, "with child, then our plans might be a little sketchy, won't they?"

"I'm not denying that, whatsoever." Bane said, searching for his contact in the phone. "We'll just have to play it closer to the chest, won't we?"

"_I _will," corrected Chance.

"You're already beginning to think that you'll have to protect our progeny on your own." Bane said, though his voice was disapproving. He sounded proud of her. "However, you're wrong. Because, if you are with child, I _am_ its father, so I am just as valuable as you. Perhaps more, I assume."

"_I'm_ the one that is going to deliver it, Bane," said Chance, indicating her own body. "I think I'm more important in the matter of childbirth."

"Unlike this reality," said Bane flatly, "it _is_ my right and duty to protect you from harm. I'll die before anybody lays a hand on you."

Chance smiled at him as he raised the phone to his face and started to talk to his contact in Bulgaria.


	11. Ace's Ruse

City in Pieces

Chapter Eleven: Ace's Ruse

Ace's letters came in one by one. Barsad, knowing the familiar discomfort of handing his commander the letters from an old friend, stepped uncertainly toward Chance, who was using the computer to flash through the placed bombs throughout the city. Barsad approached her from the darkness to stand beside her, holding the envelopes casually by his side as he watched Chance's hands fly through the computer screen. She knew exactly what she was looking for. The light of the screens flashed in their eyes as Chance brought up several prints from the city's landscapes. Bombs were placed under the scaffolds of construction sites, in basements of highly-profitable restaurants and hotels; below the west wings of five of the six bridges that connected Gotham to the rest of the world, and several were implanted around what above them was the Gotham Rogues' Football Stadium. Chance brought up a photograph of the Mayor's box along the seats of the sports fans. Chance glanced at the lingering man behind her.

"Barsad. You're awfully quiet."

"Just thoughtful, Ma'am." Barsad retorted.

Chance inhaled slightly, then began,

"I'm rather intrigued about how fast your men work, Captain. These oil drums are placed in some of the most intricate locations. I'm a bit interested in how you managed to put all this concrete under the bridges without them falling from the hangings." Chance indicated the five of them in each captured photo. "From a helicopter's view, nobody can spot them. You're a good man, Barsad. Good man."

"I appreciate the candor," said Barsad. He had come to meet Bane on several occasions. He owed the man his life, which is why Barsad never so much as argued with Bane. Barsad had come to greatly respect Chance over the years. Her fondness for the masked man was highly admirable and well-intrigued by half of the League of Shadows. Barsad would go so far as saying that his two leaders would simply be lost without the other, though he would never admit it out loud. Barsad saw Chance as the second gear that would rust if Bane left the League. He was, after all, the entire reason why Chance was alive after all.

"I know," said Barsad, "that you don't enjoy hearing this, but I was told to continue to bring them to you as they come."

Chance turned to look at Barsad's offering hand. The familiar crestfallen gaze appeared on her face as she withdrew the sealed envelopes from his hand.

"Lieutenant," said Barsad, "I understand that Ace is a prisoner in Black Gate. Everyone's under the impression that because Joker is in Arkham, and she's away from him, Ace must be raving mad in there. But I ask you permission to tell you what I think."

Chance looked at him.

"More opinions about what she is like, hm?"

"I don't know much about Ace, personally: only what I've heard."

"I enjoy your company, Barsad," Chance said honestly. "But this _is_ a very touchy subject."

"It's not a bad opinion, ma'am."

Chance set the letters on the table.

"All right."

"It's been eight years, and she is _still_ sending you these, every day." Barsad divulged. "If she was really going insane, if she was really feeling lost in that solitary cell of hers, why would she continue to send you two letters a day? Three letters, four a day? Every week, they build and build. And if the warden was trying to set her loose among the male population, it's completely invalid."

"Invalid?" said Chance, though she was smiling.

"Yes," said Barsad certainly. "If Ace is enthralled with this joker man as much as you said she was, this girl would _never _let any man, especially these inmates, touch her. Especially inappropriately."

"You make a good point." Chance said.

"I want to make another." Barsad offered.

"Which is…?"

Barsad, brave enough, side-stepped her and took up the letters from the table. He handed them to her.

"If she has continued to write you, then it's obvious to me that she _knows_ that you haven't been reading them. If Ace was truly a good friends of yours from childhood, then Ace knows how you reacted when she was arrested. Ace _knows_ that her imprisonment is _torturing_ you." Barsad said boldly, "_And_ it's likely that she, too, knows that Daggett and Stryver are irking you."

Barsad was really shining. Chance took Ace's mail and continued to hold the envelopes. Barsad seemed to know exactly what was going on. Did Ace know what was going on despite her containment? Did she know about Daggett and Stryver.

"Continue." Chance nodded. "Please."

Barsad and Chance sat down. He brought over a steaming kettle. He offered a chance to make an Irish coffee, but due to present circumstances, Chance declined. Barsad served her a cup, as then gave one to himself.

"You were saying about Ace." Chance reminded him.

Barsad continued,

"When I was first recruited, Bane told me about your relationship with this Ace Leswaae. He told me that you and Ace were enemies. I went around Gotham, asking about Ace, and according to the poll count, she was this highly dangerous, crazy, psycho bitch—pardon the expression—who went around killing people because she could. And then I asked about you. I was told that you were a very restrained woman who all she wanted out of the world was to rule this place. You were very OCD with this thing that you couldn't help. If you promised somebody something, you had to go through with it.

"Well, over the years, I've listened to these men's stories about you and Ace. At one point, you and Ace were best friends, hardly separable. Then you and her stopped working together because she was blood thirsty and you only killed if you had to. Well, a few more years pass, and then I'm told that you and her are working together again, but this time, Two-face and Joker are your pals. A few years pass. Then I was told that Two-Face pretty much dumped you for this pretty face who dumped him, and you went solo; while Ace went with Joker. Eight years ago, I started working with you, and you met Bane. And you and Ace were enemies.

"Of course, when you spent five years under the water, and Ace was still with Joker, I figured that she pretty much hated you and you hated her back." Barsad said, then he drank some of his coffee.

Chance listened, interested.

"So," continued Barsad, "I spent the next six years, watching you become this highly-respected _Lieutenant_ who finally had Talia and Bane to trust her. So then Joker and Ace come to town. Now she's this crazy girl who is like a panting dog for this clown that we only know of because you were in cohoots with. Ace, who is now entirely seething about how you left her, tries to _kill _you, but when she learns that you actually were being held against your will, she forgives you. So now you and Ace are friends again. After Joker is arrested, I'm told that you tried to give her a way out. She declines. But after three years of not having this clown by her side, Ace goes fucking crazy and tries to _blow up_ Arkham. Seven years pass, and here we are. Ace is sending you letters every single _fucking _ day.

"And you think that she is mad and helpless?" Barsad said smiling. "Ace doesn't like the cage she's in. Neither do you, but I have a hunch that she _knows_ that you hate it for her. She knows that, and she knows that you and Bane have already planned to bomb Gotham to the ground. She knows it."

Chance looked impressed.

"You've got some keen insight, Captain," said Chance.

"Mm," agreed Barsad, and he drank his coffee. "Ace," he said, "is in Black Gate Prison. She is waiting for you to break her out. And she knows that you are coming to free her. Her constant letters are sending everyone else the message that once she breaks out, she is going to be so angry at _you_," he pointed to Chance, "that she won't even acknowledge anyone's existence. Daggett and Stryver think that since you're ignoring her, she won't think twice about killing them. She'll come straight to you."

Chance grinned. "You're saying that all of this is a ruse?"

Barsad nodded. "Yes. Chance, isn't this something that Ace would do?"

Chance considered it. She leaned back in her seat.

"Damn it." Chance chuckled. "It is."

Barsad poured himself more coffee.

"Which, as far as Ace goes, this all goes according to her plan. She's quite a firecracker," agreed Barsad, "and she may enjoy killing people, but that doesn't mean she's insane. She's a blood thirsty killer who may enjoy it _too_ much," sighed Barsad, "but not insane. Even when she was going to kill you, and you thought so, too, it would be something to laugh about later."

Chance smiled.

"So, if you have enough gumption to point all this out to me, why didn't you say anything to Bane?"

Barsad gave Chance a sweet smile.

"Well, in my experience, Bane doesn't care about Ace. The only reason why he chooses not to give you these letters is because Ace is just a fruitcake who should die with all the other citizens of Gotham." Barsad said casually. "But he won't kill her. Out of respect for _you_," he pointed out. "That's why he didn't kill Ace in the first place, isn't it?"

Chance looked at him.

"Then why didn't he kill me in the first place? I intruded on the lair."

Barsad shrugged. "That, Lieutenant, has _always_ been a mystery to me."


	12. Truth

Author's Note: Thank you for my reviews so short into this story! I was given a lot of suggestions that Chance and Bane should produce an heir, and I've mauled it over in my noggin for a few days. Hope you like this chapter as much as you have the last two. Let the games begin.

City in Pieces

Chapter Twelve: Truth

Barsad finished off his coffee. He couldn't stay much longer; Bane had given him orders, and like an accomplished Captain that he was, Barsad set out with a few selected men to search for Gordon and the lost rookie's bodies. Chance was left sitting in the chair that she occupied for the thirty minutes that Barsad described to her was Ace's ruse. Chance collected all that he said.

Ace was very intelligent. Chance couldn't take that away from her. She was regarded as one of the smartest people out of Gotham's villains that ever terrorized Gotham in the past. Ace, when she worked alone for the small time it took before Joker met her, had slaughtered men and women out of the reasoning that everyone deserved to die. Though Chance had always believed that Ace only used that as an excuse to murder. It was Ace's speed.

However, it probed that part of Chance's brain that wanted Ace to be so calm and reserved that eight years of imprisonment and 75 years to life was all part of her plan. Such things were amiss, though. Why, if Ace was so calculating and tactical, did all of her letter reign of misery, despair, and indignation? If Ace knew that Chance was rotting in a hell when someone mentioned her name, why would Ace write those letters three at a time? It was most likely out of a self-loathing aspect that Ace had managed to get herself caught after so many years of evading the police. Though, on the other hand, it _did_ convince Daggett, Stryver, and everyone else that Ace was slowly decaying in her single cell at Black Gate. Even Chance was believing that Ace had gone to the dogs. If that _was_ her plan all along, Ace would have had the entire world fooled. Even Bane.

Chance glanced at the letters again. What if Ace had been trying to contact her and tell her the truth? Her words would rack Chance's mind once more if they were about hate and grudges. On the other hand, they could be destined plots to break out of Black Gate.

"Damn it, Ace," muttered Chance, taking the envelopes off the desk. She ripped them open and opened pamphlets of lettering.

Chance read through one letter.

_My dear friend,_ it read,

_Over the eight years that I have been rendered only a harmless spider in a padded container, I have given some ill-mannered thought of what I will do the day that I become free. I know that you are being driven to the point of hatred for my wares, because I did decline your offer for a one-way out of Gotham so long ago. I know that, by now, you've decided that all my letters that I have sent you are ones of anger, and my impending intent to take my life._

_You should have known better, Chance._

_Every day, I have written three letters for eight years. I know that you have received all 8,760 letters from me, though I believe, because I know you that well, that you have only read about 10 of them. I can't blame you for your refusal. Despite our past feuds, and my attempt on your life, you have always found some part in that compassionate heart of yours to somehow comply with a situation. You have always forgiven me, and I don't know why._

_Over the eight years that I have been imprisoned, I know that you and your strong-armed friend have been searching the countries for your missing physicist. I imagine that you were the one that let him go, on account that due to your mind, you believed that he deserved some kind of compassion. You, like most times, were wrong. You read this letter with some doubt and misgiving because you have not read any of my letters to you._

_Know this: I do not begrudge you the slightest. Out of the two of us, you have always been emotionally attached. That's why you visit Harvey Dent's burial site every day on Dent Day; deep down, you are the reason for his death. _

_I imagine, by now, that you have discovered my ruse. All that you know is true._

_You have questions._

_No, I am not insane, nor do I believe I have ever been. I simply enjoy bloodshed. It's like a 3D video game, and every time I do kill someone, I earn one-thousand points to Slytherin. _

_Yes. I know that Daggett and Stryver are giving you a very hard time. _

_Yes. I know that you haven't been reading my letters._

_Yes. I know that you thought me to be foolish when I was arrested, and suffering from unrequited love when I tried to break Joker out of Gotham. This was no lie, Chance. I lost my mind without him. It's not better in here, I assure you. _

_And here comes your true question, Chance. Do I believe that you will set me free from Black Gate? Yes. And now you're wondering why. _

_I know that Bane means business when he wants to burn Gotham to the ground. When I left you, and I noted that 'Gotham is ashes', I had already figured out that what Bane wants is for Gotham to be completely annihilated. You once told me that all you and he were trying to do was to bring the social elite down to our level. You were speaking the truth, but you weren't being entirely honest with me. I know that once Gotham is given hope, you and Bane will destroy it. With this in mind, I know that you will break out the people that have been oppressed by the corrupt, the judges and jurors who sent me to Black Gate without parole or bail. _

_You always do what Bane asks of you. I realize that it isn't weakness, dear friend. You sincerely believe in what he's taught you over seventeen years of bloodshed, sweat, and weakness. And truly, you love him. _

_But be careful, Chance. The law knows no bounds. And love…_does not _conquer all._

_Oh, and on another note. Your friend, Barsad, is quite a man. He may have left out some information that he's told you, but I guess that you should know that he's been visiting me over the few years. He's broken no laws in doing that, Chance. He has merely checked up on me as a courtesy to you. Apparently, he had a run in with us when you and I were working together as partners in crime during the first sequel of our journey. It's a small world, isn't it?_

_Don't bother reading the other three, Chance. They're merely decoys since the warden breezes through them like a banker does to money. When you are ready, write back to me._

_Let me know when your cult begins to rise._

_You know I always love our reunions._

_Sincerely,_

_Your friend._

Chance folded up the letter. She glanced at the open door where Barsad stood in the door frame. Chance gave him a look. Barsad appeared to already know what she had discovered, for he approached her.

"You've been visiting Ace?" asked Chance gently.

"I'm not ashamed of it." Barsad confessed. "I won't deny it."

"Why?" asked Chance lightly, unsure if she was genuinely touched or merely shocked.

"I worked with Bane for a while, like I said. I owe him my life. She is just as valuable to you as you are to Bane." Barsad said directly.

"She knows that I lied to her," sighed Chance.

"She figured that one on her own." Barsad added.

Chance smiled and tossed Ace's formidable letter onto the desk.

"She'd be a great addition to the League, you know." Chance chuckled. "She's just too rambunctious."

Barsad smiled.

In an hour, Bane led his contact through the door. Chance, who was busying herself by reading the rest of Ace's letters out of amusement, looked up to see Bane watching her.

"Ace's letters?" he questioned, gesturing toward them.

"I'll tell you later." Chance said, smirking. "This is him?" she nodded to the man.

"It is." Bane confirmed.

The man was robed. He would look very much out of place if someone came inside the lair. He nearly looked as if Bane took him hostage. The Bulgarian man approached Chance with a glow on his face. She wasn't sure if that was the power Bane had talked about, if he was just happy to be working his trade in a place like Gotham.

"I wasn't expecting you to look like this," said the Bulgarian.

Bane looked at him.

"What did you think I was going to look like?" asked Chance, sitting up on the bed.

"Not like this," the Bulgarian stated. He turned to Bane. "I am so happy that you contacted me. We haven't done business in years."

He said nothing back.

The Bulgarian approached Chance.

"Is there something I need to do, or…?" she asked him as he stood in front of her.

"Nope. Just lift up your shirt, there."

Chance stared at him. Then she looked at Bane.

"Is he a gynecologist?"

"No," said Bane, "I said that he can sense life in a woman's womb. Since he endowed with such, he doesn't need to examine you so intricately."

Chance looked back to the man, who smiled at her.

"I only need to feel your stomach."

"That better be all you feel…" Chance warned him.

Bane smirked at her behind his mask.

The Bulgarian man took notice in what it must look like. He stared at her, taken aback.

"Oh, I didn't know what the implication was until now. Oh, my. Lieutenant, I only need a few seconds. I simply place my hands like this"—he held up his palms to her, flat and centered—"on your stomach. I won't feel around or anything of that nature. Oh…I'm so sorry, Lieutenant. No, in my country, we don't—"

Chance held up a hand for him to stop talking.

"I understand," she said.

Chance took the hem of her shirt and raised it. She leaned back to lie on the bed. The Bulgarian man, under Bane's supervision, sat next to her. He showed Chance his hands before touching her, assuring his statement was fact. Then he set his hands on her belly button region, sensing. Chance waited for what seemed like minutes. When the man set his hands in his lap, Chance raised up to look at him. Her stomach was aflutter. Did he sense anything? Was it just barren?

"Well…?" asked Bane from beside her.

The Bulgarian man rose to his feet with some finality.

"She's not infertile."

Chance stared at him. Bane looked relieved.

"But there is something else that you should know."

"What is it?" asked Chance. "Complications?"

"No, not really," said the man. "You're not infertile, and the reason I know that is because you're with child."

Bane stared at him.

"What?" they both said together.

"Yes," said the Bulgarian casually. "Chance, you're one week along."

"One week. How could you possibly tell?" said Chance, as if to protest his fact.

"I can sense life, Chance. Even when monitors or doctors, or simple pregnancy tests in a box cannot," he said. He looked serious. "By the fourth month, your baby will be kicking. I know the future plans complicate pregnancies, Bane," he said to the father, "and I also know that what you stand for is critical. Be careful."

He patted Bane's shoulder.

"I congratulate your premise, my dear friend," the Bulgarian midwife said. "But she must be protected."

Bane nodded to him. The Bulgarian left their sides.


	13. The Wolf

Author's Note: I've been asked by a guest review for examples of what Chance and Ace actually look like, were they to be in real life. I wanted readers to portray their own ideas of Chance and Ace in their minds. Chance is supposed to be extremely beautiful and clever; Ace is supposed to be sultry, dangerous, though remain quite beautiful.

City in Pieces II

Chapter Thirteen: The Wolf

It was not a romantic movie. It wasn't a wonderful fairytale. The baby was simple as it could ever be. It was an heir to the League of Shadows, a girl or boy that would embody everything that the League would stand for: bravery, honor, vengeance, and rebuilding foundations across the globe. Chance, Bane, and Talia were not immortal by any means; the progeny would take up the legacy with duty, and when the time was right, he or she would do the same thing.

Chance faced that with some discouragement. Right now, it was a theory. Seven days were seven days, but she could bet money that when the ninth month came along, Chance knew that she would so protective of it, that she would lose her mind if something should happen. However, she didn't worry about it. She expelled it from her mind. Chance, in resolution, searched through every compartment that she could hide her prescription Oxycontin, and when she found every bottle, she tossed them into the turbulent waters with a dutiful gaze. The progeny wasn't going to be flawed with birth defects or stupors. She was bound to give the world a genius and a prodigy of Bane's genius intellect and whatever qualities she possessed.

Chance was giving the agents around her bottles upon bottles of alcohol, getting rid of temptation. Talia approached her as Barsad delivered the vodka shots to his men, whom all whooped with cheerful banter. Talia glanced at them before turning to Chance, who smiled at her.

"Talia."

"I heard your news." Talia indicated Chance's stomach. "It must be wonderful, knowing that you aren't barren. Bane informed me of the situation," she said as a side-note. "I wondered when he was going to ask you. I would provide an heir myself, but I can't trust men too well. I trust Bane, of course," she assured Chance, "but no other man."

Chance nodded. Although Chance befriended Talia, it was still a little rough to bear her speaking of Bane. In her mind, they might as well be distanced lovers. Talia spoke of him with the highest regard; she respected him, which was fine, but Chance could barely stand it when Bane looked at her with that same…meaningful gaze.

"Chance, are you all right?" Talia asked. "You look a bit agitated."

"I just know that I'm going to be going through some strong withdrawals," lied Chance.

"Drug addiction is easy to kick, I hear."

"Perhaps you have heard wrong. Why are you here?" asked Chance curiously.

"I considered not coming, but I thought you might enjoy this." Talia gave Chance a bag of clothes.

"What are these?" Chance peered into it.

"Articles of a masquerade costume." Miranda answered. "I'm hosting a charity event at my house." Chance looked at her. "The proceeds will go to funding the reactor core." With a flick of her tongue, she said in a mocking way, "the _clean energy project._"

"Why would I come to a ball that has people in there that I don't know?" Then Chance added with obvious irritation, "Or that I don't like."

"These people that will be there are rich, yes, but their money is valued. A charity event and generous royals make a princely combination for a purpose that you and I want to endure. I know that you haven't seen a party in quite a while, Chance. Have a day where you can dance, enjoy the food, and for God sake, get out there and enjoy yourself."

Chance gave her a tight smile.

"I enjoy myself down here."

"All right, well, about this." Talia said. "I want you by my side while I'm in my house with lots of people who think I'm just a delight."

"Why would I want to come if that's the reason why?"

"We can sit at a table and make fun of people while you're enjoying an alcohol-free Cosmo and eating like a man," offered Talia.

Chance raised her eyebrows.

"_Now_ you're talking," Chance stated, impressed.

"The party's upstairs. You can't go waltzing into a crowd, unmasked. I bought these for you." Talia told her. "I figured you fit the nature of a wolf, and _Geno's_ so happened to have an outfit that matches your personality. Its tomorrow night, Chance. Don't be late."

Chance watched Talia's back as she left. Chance opened the bag on the bed to inspect the costume that was supposedly flattering on her. Unable to see the underlying details by simply laying out on the bed, Chance undressed, and slipped into comfortable pieces of satin and polyester. White satin hugged her bosom and it tied around her neck; black polyester and nylon fell to ankles, meeting two-inch heels; a comfortable white-fur shawl fell over her shoulders in warmth; but Chance found it most interesting when she put on the mask. A wolf by an elegant descent framed her face in black and white. Chance admitted it to herself that Miranda had some taste in design.

At first she thought she looked a bit too elegant in a rich woman's clothes, considered throwing the money-grabbed articles into the water with the drugs…However, from her peripheral vision, she saw Bane step over the threshold. Chance turned to him, and he halted when he saw her.

His eyes climbed their way from her exposed feet, to her curvature of her legs and breasts, and found her eyes through the tufts of white fur and material. He approached her slowly.

"Is this what you are under flesh and bone?" he asked her.

From the darkness of the mask, she gazed out at him. He might not have seen the smirk on her lips.

"How would you know that it was me if I was in a crowd of people?"

Bane gave her an amused chuckle. He held her mask by the nose and pushed it away from her face. Her hair fell down her shoulders.

"Were you in a throng, surrounded by strange others, with this mask, I'd know it was you."

"How could you possibly recognize me?"

"I know this because if I approached strangers, they would fall to their feet in fear, and you would simply look at me from the throng as a friend." He pinched her chin. "That's how I would know." Then he added, "That, and you hold a lot of emotion in those eyes of yours."

Chance smiled at him.

"Talia asked me to come to this ball wearing this."

Bane gave her another quick overview.

"It's in good taste." He wrapped a hand around her waist.

"Oh, yeah," scoffed Chance jokingly, "because—Oh!"

Bane moved her so suddenly; she caught him, by instinct, around his neck as he dipped her over his other hand. Chance, startled, stared at him in shock. He chuckled and put her back to her feet.

"I see you in military uniforms all the time, Chance," said Bane. "From time to time, I forget what you look like as a woman."

Chance smirked.

"I guess I'll have to remind you, won't I?"


	14. The Wolf and the Bat

Author's Note: At first, I actually did plan on there being no chance that Chance wouldn't be able to have a baby, but, however, seeing as this would make another good plot line and many reviewers hoped to see a pregnancy. Originally, I thought that pregnancies ruined the story, seeing as how several other authors concentrate on the baby rather than the main character, the love interest, or the matter at hand. Thank you for your recent reviews. As usual, enjoy the rest of the chapter.

Let the games begin.

City in Pieces II

Chapter Fourteen: The Wolf and the Bat

Chance Bremly, or rather known around Miranda's house as Rita Malaise, emerged from the sewer like an attractive wolf from a dank, dark forest. Her shoulders were framed delicately by the abundant fur of a winter wolf; a shapely body slunk against black and white satin; and arched feet posed in black, open-toed high heels beckoned the gazes of several married and single men as Chance entered the largest threshold of the mansion before her. Her heart-shaped face, well-hidden behind the pearly white and midnight black details of a royal wolf masquerade mask, was amused, as Chance stepped into a vastly special living room. Royalty and luxury surrounded her in furniture, dishes, tables, and also flanked the patrons around her in night gowns, tuxedos, sparkling jewelry, and shining smiles. Chance hadn't spent so much time with the likes of the Gothamites that surrounded her in literal years, and she remembered why.

They made her feel like a lie, coated in golden gravy, pushed underneath a large bounty of silver and copper pieces. Only rich sycophants and shady businessmen like Daggett would consider that these people actually had lives. They squandered their wealth on drinks and women, things that they didn't need. Their children were spoiled and malcontent, bullies on a school yard.

Chance frowned beneath her mask, and her eyes, were anyone to spot them, showed contempt for the men and women that surrounded her. They held their glasses to the lips with a smile in their faces, though none of them met their eyes. Frauds and charlatans spoke about their parades and achievements while their opposite fraud and charlatans pretended to give a rat's ass. Chance could imitate them; she was a very good liar. She just didn't want to do that.

From behind her, a gentle hand touched her neck. A black-masked female approached her in a long-sleeved black dress. A devious smile, lightly coated in ruby red lipstick, smirked at her from behind the mask as the female strode around her in order to give Chance a look over.

"Rita," said Miranda in her exotic accent, "you made it."

"I thought I'd give it a whirl," said Chance apathetically. She indicated the masses with an open hand. "You call these people strangers, though they seem to enjoy the fruits of your labor."

"Alcohol is a gift to anyone, it's all free." Miranda said, smiling at her.

"It's a callous environment," said Chance disapprovingly.

Miranda's smile flickered.

"These people are giving money to help the city," she said. "Some of them will die, and it will be the better half that does. Look into the crowd, Rita. Some of them aren't even 30 yet, and they've wondered through life with riches, yet they decide to hand it to something more suitable than simple gold."

"In this world," said Chance, "only down-to-earth people like you and me who grew up with barely anything but the clothes on our backs would call something as valuable as gold 'simple'."

"Yet," said Miranda, "look at how many people have it."

Chance shook her head. Her eyes turned upward to a balcony where more tuxedos and gowns were hanging about, sipping margaritas and smoking cigars. Chance had an idea that maybe only half of these patrons actually smoked in their own home. However, searching through the masked and unmasked faces of the pedestals, Chance found one face that she didn't think to recognize in a dismal den as this.

"I think," said Chance, "that there might be a person up there who wants to talk to you."

Miranda looked at her, puzzled.

Chance nodded her head up at the man leaning over the railing, who, too, was gazing at the crowd of men and women who were dancing in the middle of the floor. Miranda smirked at Chance.

"This might be interesting to watch," she muttered. She grabbed Chance's hand and led her up the stairs, passing several astonished faces. They reached the landing. He started to lead away from the railing, apparently finding the targeted face, but before he reached the stairs, Miranda approached him,

"Bruce Wayne? At a charity ball?"

The attractive boy billionaire peered at Miranda, who lowered her Venetian mask from her face, and then his eyes turned to Chance, who met his gaze. He, in all standards, was very handsome. The dark eyes and sleeked back hair seemed accustomed to descriptions of 'tall, dark, and handsome', and she wouldn't deny an offer to spend the night with him; however, she knew that this was Batman at night. Miranda knew it, too. Bruce was amused by Miranda's proposal. He smiled, obviously recognizing her.

"Miss Tate, isn't it?"

"Even before you became a recluse, you never came to these things."

Chance smiled tightly when he gave the room a look of disdain.

"True, but all the proceeds go to the big fat spread, not the cause. It's not about charity. It's about feeding the ego of whichever bored society hag laid it on."

Chance suppressed a smirk.

"Actually, this is my party," said Miranda, smiling still.

Bruce blushed.

"Oh."

"And the proceeds," she continued, "will go where they should because I paid for the fat spread myself."

"That's very generous of you."

"You have to invest, if you want to restore balance to the world. "Take our clean energy project, for instance."

"Sometimes the investment doesn't pay off," he responded blithely. "Sorry."

Miranda regarded him thoughtfully.

"You have a practiced apathy, Mr. Wayne. But a man who doesn't care about the world doesn't spend half his fortune on a plan to save it—and isn't so wounded when it fails that he goes into hiding."

Bruce looked at her, slightly impressed.

Miranda gave him a simple smile.

"This is Rita Malaise," she introduced her friend standing beside her.

Bruce regarded Chance with a nice smile.

"She's in my line of work." Miranda offered. "Rita is one of our important members. She's got quite a mind of her own. From what I'm told, you like that in a girl. Rita, dear," she said, "I'll be downstairs, should you need me for the rest of the night."

Chance watched her go. Bruce gave her a look of consideration.

"Rita," he said, taking her hand in his. He kissed her knuckles. Involuntarily, Chance smiled at him, entranced. "I don't think I have ever seen your face. However," his eyes searched for hers within her mask, "you do seem familiar."

"I remain a mystery, Mr. Wayne," said Chance, withdrawing her hand from his. "Though, you're a mystery on your own, aren't you?"

"I don't think that's true," said Bruce, smiling at her.

"It's not every day that a trust-fund baby gives up so much of his wealth in order to help a city that's crumbling beneath his feet, Bruce," informed Chance. Her voice regarded him with respect.

"You share the opinion with the rest of the world."

"My opinion is invalid. You've heard it before, and before the night is over, you will hear it from all these other people that share each other's disdain for what you have done over the years. You're a very noble man, Mr. Wayne," said Chance honestly, "but your efforts are being wasted by those who don't give a damn. And those people that show that they appreciate what you do, they think that you'll grow tired of putting on your mask, and coming to these nightly balls in order to rescue those who have already started to burn."

"You're very intelligent," said Bruce fondly, "but I disagree with you."

"Of course, you do," said Chance with a smile.

He gazed at her softly.

"Why are you so familiar to me?" he pondered aloud.

"We've met before on several occasions, Mr. Wayne," sighed Chance. "Unfortunately, our debates end usually messily, and the other ends up getting hurt. It wouldn't hurt so badly if we simply agree that one of us is right."

"Our debates? I don't think I would argue with you," said Bruce gently.

"On the contrary," retorted Chance.

He considered her.

"Would you like a dance, Rita?"

"Lowering yourself to the rest of the patrons, Mr. Wayne?" asked Chance.

"Any person can dance, despite the kind of people that are around them."

"That's a fancy way of saying 'no'." Chance replied.

"All right." He was amused. "Then 'no'."

Chance took his offered hand.

He escorted her through the crowd. On the dance floor, he held her waist; she wrapped a hand around his neck. Bruce and Chance swayed slightly in the middle of the room. The music was soft and lazy.

"So, Rita, tell me something."

"Hm?"

"If you hate these people," said Bruce, taking her other hand, "why are _you_ here?"

"Miranda asked me to come. I don't get out all that much anymore."

"Business?"

"Something like that," offered Chance. "Why are you so open now? Last time I checked, you were hiding. Quite a sudden change of heart: Big-time Billionaire playboy to Hidden Billionaire, Ashamed and Afraid. Now you're back in other people's houses, dancing with strange women that you've just met only a few minutes ago."

"Surely you've had your own share of strange men."

"I have." Chance said sweetly.

"Do they turn out all right?" asked Bruce conversationally.

"If I play my cards right, yes," said Chance.

Bruce smiled at her.

"How long have you been in Gotham?"

"Several years. Nothing's changed."

"If you don't like it, why won't you move?"

"The city's dying, Mr. Wayne." Chance stated flatly. "It will die before I get up and leave."

"You seem to believe that something is going to happen."

"It will, Mr. Wayne." Chance assured him with a smirk.

"That's a bit ominous," said Bruce.

"Oh, Bruce. Not everything is as shiny as a gold shilling," Chance drawled. "Poverty is still in this city. Just because the Dent Act has repealed so many people to Black Gate, it doesn't mean that every bad man is gone. They live among the insects, Mr. Wayne, waiting for the right time to pounce. And when they do," she said, "they'll hit harder than ever."

"You show some contempt in that silky voice of yours."

"Contempt for those who don't appreciate what they have, and they flaunt it in faces of those who deserve it."

"Do you deserve to be wealthy, Rita?"

"Wealth is only temporary, dear," said Chance. "If the world was to end, all your money would be used to stoke fires. Money can buy freedom. It can't buy lives."

"I've seen Daggett do that quite a bit," said Bruce repulsively.

"John Daggett is just the underlying citizen who gives the people what they need in order to make a big bang in everyone's plans." Chance said dismissively. "The real culprit is the masked man that goes gallivanting on rooftops." Chance said with a smile. "Batman."

Bruce's face flickered.

"You consider him to fit with the soulless?"

"He's a good man, Bruce. Though his skills are wasted." Chance observed. "When Gotham was at its weakest, they turned to a man that they didn't fully understand. Sad people turned to the Joker for assistance, and when they disliked him for what he did to help them, they turned on him. The same wretched hearts did the same to Batman when he, possibly, murdered Harvey Dent."

Bruce gazed at her fondly.

"Possibly?"

"Batman has rules, Mr. Wayne. Dent was a white knight." Chance said admirably. "Batman would have done nothing to make that man die. He's covering."

"You really _are_ intelligent, Ms. Malaise."

Chance grinned at him.

"Though I still don't recall your face." Bruce said.

"One day, you will." Chance sighed. "I'm sorry, Bruce, but I must be leaving now."

She stepped away from him.

"Oh, and your woman that you've been searching for," she said. "She's over there."

Bruce turned. Chance saw Selina Kyle in the crowd, dancing with a man.

Bruce smiled at her.

"Good night, Mr. Wayne." Chance breathed, waving farewell.


	15. I Know Your Face

Author's Note:

City in Pieces II

Chapter Fifteen: I Know Your Face

"Rita!"

Chance, who had started down the street to walk toward the sewers, halted on the spot, when she heard the recognizable voice of her dashing dancing partner. Bruce Wayne caught up with her, stepping lightly. Questioning his premise, she turned around. It wasn't like Bruce to pursue his women, as far as the paparazzi examined. However, he was still in his suit, tie and all, as he approached her. Bruce Wayne smiled at her formally. She wore the wolf mask still on her face, hiding from the public.

"Rita," he repeated.

"Mr. Wayne, you're persistent." Chance said, setting her hands on her hips.

"Unfortunately." Bruce cindered with sweet eyes.

His answer made her wonder what he wanted. She asked him straight out,

"I don't know why I went to that party; it was a favor for my friend, Miranda. I don't take home rich playboys who happen to cross my path," she said with a matter-of-fact tone; to his amused gaze, she added, "no matter how good-looking as they come."

"You can remain a mystery, Rita," said Bruce with a smile. "It's attractive, no matter what. I wanted more of your time."

"That's something that isn't in abundance, Mr. Wayne."

"Bruce," he corrected her. "Call me 'Bruce'."

"Fine," said Chance, remaining distant. "Bruce, I don't have a lot of time."

"You had quite a bit when I was in there." He didn't say it with reproach. She fascinated him. "You're wearing that mask still. Quite dedicated to staying in character?" He tipped the nose piece of her wolf head, slightly lifting it. She raised her hand to stop him. "You're not a usual woman, are you?" He still was intrigued.

"Bruce." Chance licked her lips hesitantly. "You're a very sweet guy. A good man, even. I don't know what you want from me, and if it's anything over a platonic relationship…Well, it simply can't be done without becoming a problem."

Bruce didn't seem abashed, though he realized that he might have been stepping over a line.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he apologized. "Boyfriend?"

"Something to that extent," said Chance lightly.

"Then, may I apologize to you by asking you to a midnight dinner?"

"Do you fear for my safety, Bruce?"

"A woman shouldn't be walking the streets alone." Bruce advised her.

"I can handle my own," said Chance. She clicked her tongue. "How about this? If you tell me why you don't want me walking the streets by my lonesome, I'll show you my face?" she drawled, stepping toward him.

Bruce gave her a concentrated look.

"You're very mysterious," whispered Bruce.

"Is that why you're taking a shine to me?"

"That's your assumption?" Bruce said, grinning at her.

"I read people, Bruce. It's what I've picked up over the years. So? Do we have a deal?"

Bruce contemplated it. She indicated a dark alleyway.

"Come with me, through there, and then we exchange the deal. I promise," she said, "that I won't hurt you."

"Do you think that you're intimidating?" asked Bruce, staring at her.

"I know I am. Hesitation is a common sign for fear. I'm not afraid."

Chance side-stepped him, turned, and walked backwards into the shadows. Only the moon pierced her face, and shining eyes stared back at him.

"Tempt your luck, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce, most likely charmed than tempted, stepped into the alleyway with her.

Her voice dropped to a low register.

"So, tell me," she said.

"If you tell anyone this, it's mass panic."

"Oh, Bruce. Still don't trust me?"

He paused.

"Don't be shy," said Chance playfully.

"All right. You know Gordon's in the hospital…"

Chance stared at him.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Gordon's alive?" asked Chance, surprised.

"Yes. Luckily, Officer John Blake found him time. He was shot; they found him in the sewers."

"You _don't_ say." Chance drawled.

"It's true. He's wounded, on a ventilator in Gotham General."

"That's…_unfortunate_." Chance muttered, trying to hide some disappointment.

"I poked around in the database."

"You have a database?" asked Chance innocently.

"I have a very powerful friend who specializes in things like this."

Chance nodded knowingly. "Mm. Curious. What's did your powerful friend tell you?"

"I was told," said Bruce, "that there is…" he lowered his voice. "There is a man named Bane…"

Chance's stomach collapsed. _He knows._

"_Bane?_" Chance said extravagantly. Her mocked surprise seemed to give Bruce the right impression. "I never heard of that name before."

"He's dangerous, Rita."

"Oh, and he's here?" asked Chance. She wanted to pry.

_Does he know more than he's letting on? Does he know about me?_

"I'm not sure. But there are suspicions." Bruce said. "I don't want anything bad to happen to anyone. And you're so set in your ways; it seemed to me that you would be the most vulnerable." He took her hands in his. "I wanted to make sure that you weren't harmed.

"Aw, you're so _sweet,_" she drawled. Her voice dropped to a taunting sin.

Bruce automatically dropped her hands.

"What's wrong, Bruce?" she asked in a sultry voice.

"I know…that tone. That voice…"

Chance sighed. _No doubt that you do,_ she thought.

She saw Bruce narrow his eyes at her.

Chance raised a hand to her mask. Bruce watched with treading anticipation, though he most likely already knew who she was before she lifted it. Chance's mask hit the concrete beneath their feet. Her piercing eyes gazed at him from curled blonde hair.

"Hi, Bruce." Chance said with a light coo. "You're such a gentleman, and although"—Bruce stared at her, becoming slowly angry—"you are very light on your feet, I'm afraid I'll have to decline that dinner, love."

Chance side-stepped him. He grabbed her wrist.

"I can't let you go," he said irritably.

"Oh, Bruce, I'm afraid you have no choice." Chance taunted. She stepped toward him and planted a kiss on his lips. He pushed her against the wall, pinning her so that she wouldn't run.

He seemed too angry to give her a reply. Chance slipped beneath his body and the wall, sliding out of reach. She backed into the alleyway.

"I like a little fire in a man," she confessed, pointing to him, "however, I think I prefer the darker side of the moon."

"What are you talking about?"

"Gotham faced Joker and Ace, Bruce. Or should I call you _Batman._" Chance hissed, "But they've never seen anything like _him._"

"Who do you mean?"

"You know who he is," Chance chuckled.

Bruce lunged forward, but in the darkness, she was hidden.

"Heroes fly in the sky, dear," her voice said in the chilling night, "but the greater man rises out of the ashes, and walks the ground with nothing held back."

"Chance!" Bruce called out angrily.

"Good night, dear."


	16. Computer-based Intellect

City in Pieces II

Chapter Sixteen: Computer-based Intellect

Daggett's construction company continued to build below the foundation of the sophisticated sewers, under the pretense that the reactor core was going to be coddled there for containment, should something happen in Applied Sciences during a security breach. In order for the clean energy project to be protected, Miranda Tate would have to be the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, reigning charge over the company. According to Bane, Daggett had dealings with him before. Before he met Chance, he and Daggett associated with mining companies in Eastern Europe. When Bane completed a complicated mission, Daggett was impressed, and led his 'friends' to Gotham in order to do a very big favor. His perks to dealing with Daggett weighed in favor to his future plans, so Bane tolerated his insolence. Once Chance understood this, she could tolerate Daggett only a little easier, but his snide remarks about Ace made it difficult to enjoy his company. Though, any more times that he made a hit toward Ace's situation, Chance smiled inwardly, knowing her true dilemma.

Chance had known that perhaps she hadn't taken risk to a newer height when she exposed her face to Bruce Wayne, knowing fully well that he was Batman, but he, in turn, knew of her knowledge of his true identity. He couldn't very well arrest her anyway. It would have appeared suspicious for a billionaire playboy to be in the presence of a well-known assassin. In any scenario, it would ruin Wayne's impression.

Chance counted on his silence on the matter. The previous acts would have showed that he was quite taken to her. She had been a mystery guest at a strange party, speaking of ill will toward rich men and destruction of souls. When he had mentioned Bane, something had triggered in her. It might have been that she knew exactly to whom he was referring. Or perhaps that she associated herself with Bane. Then again, Chance wanted Bruce to know who she was. He recognized her eyes and voice but couldn't place her face until he was darkness, only realizing her true identity when she dropped to a taunting sweetness.

Chance was mildly surprised when Bane didn't react when he was told that Gordon survived the gunshot to the leg, along with the murky waters of the sewers. Barsad and his men hadn't caught him in time, though the GPS read that Gordon was far off in the Gulf of Mexico by now. Chance had canceled the device out of knowing that it was a false lead. She mentioned that Bruce Wayne dropped his name, but again, he wasn't tormented by the news.

"Mr. Wayne is insightful and intelligent, Chance. We must know our enemy. Ignorance will get you killed." Bane told her, dismissing the information of the Batman's interest in him. "Your exposure to his eyes, unmasking yourself…Was that some sort of rebellion?"

"He would have noticed my voice in the end."

"Your voice, you can disguise." Bane said.

Chance watched Bane conform to a browsing network on one of the computer screens, searching for a program. Over his shoulder, he handed her an electronic tablet. Chance swished a finger over the interface and it beamed an application that was starting to load.

"What's this?" asked Chance curiously.

"Our next step."

"Are we downloading _Twitter?_" she asked jokingly.

He glanced at her.

"Sometimes your vocabulary flummoxes me."

"It's a social app." Chance shrugged that away. "Seriously, Sir. What am I looking at? What is downloading?" she looked up at his work on the screens. "What are _you_ looking at?"

"Stock is quite cheap these days." Bane told her. Chance stepped beside him to watch the numbers rise and lower through matters of seconds. "If you invest enough money into it, you wouldn't have to work a day in your life. Though, it's risky business. Paper money is worthless without gold in the banks. If numbers are channeled through databases, but there is no physical worth in a vault, they're just numbers. Simply figments of the imagination. Only writers can sell imagination."

"Is this Daggett's request?" questioned Chance. She indicated the tablet. "Is this the transfer?"

"It will hook into a printer cable, which is located in the Stock Exchange building in down town Gotham. Wayne's thumb prints have been copied and posted onto this key card," he held up an ink-blotted piece of plastic. "Inserting the key card and plugging in this tablet will transfer Wayne's funds into Daggett's bank accounts. Without any profits for Wayne Enterprises, since Bruce is the entitled owner of the company, he will submerge," said Bane, "and Daggett will be in charge of the city."

Chance stared at him.

"But what is _really_ going to happen?"

Bane regarded her. He said, slightly impressed,

"All of this will go to plan. However, by the time the application is complete, Wayne will try to save the reactor core from filthy hands, obviously you and me. Talia takes charge of Wayne Enterprises under the guise of a trusted CEO who's morally incorruptible. Because Wayne will no longer be the president of the board, Wayne's thumb prints, and by the line of thought—his funds—are no longer accessible. Daggett loses the chance to become top dog."

Chance smirked at him.

"Awfully crafty, love."

"Anticipating the Batman at all in this?" she indicated the plan in its entirety from the screens to the lit tablet in her other hand.

"It's expected. Should something happen—and it will," he added confidently, "we drag this thing out as long as we can. This is when your intelligent background comes into play. Ace," he said, "was a locksmith and demolitions expert, which by interpretation, leaves you as the database hacker and hotwiring cars."

Chance confirmed it with a sure smile.

"The Stock Exchange is secured by a chain of several hidden links and coded password to enter the accounts that collect the money of Gotham's citizens. Direct deposits, automatic withdrawals, and money transfers enter through these codes automatically. However, the plan involves intentional intrusion. Your intellect in decode and hidden search engines is required for this task."

"You would need me to go into the mind of the entire network…?"

"Yes." Bane said affirmatively.

"That's a bit of a time-sensitive operation, Sir," said Chance leniently.

"I've watched you do amazing things while in the League, Lieutenant…"

"No," she interrupted him gently, "I'm not saying that it's impossible. I'm the perfect person for this job; I can find my way around the keyboard just fine. I mean, the hacking is going to take a little while. I can't do it in three minutes."

"If you cannot break the codes in the time we're given, we go mobile."

"Cars won't outrun the police, Bane." Chance said calmly.

"No," said Bane agreeably. "Motorcycles, however, are faster."

"They're more dangerous." Chance noted. Aside from that, she said,

"You'd want me to get this application finished while on the road?"

"All you would have to do is watch the progression bar." Bane added.

Chance considered his plan.

"It's—It's a good plan," she chuckled, impressed.

"We hit the Stock Exchange tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir."


	17. What Chance Does Best

Author's Note: _For those curious about how Chance 'suddenly' became pregnant, it wasn't spontaneous. Some women are not that lucky to get pregnant at the first time they have sex. In Chance's case, she's been racked with a large amount of stress, several injuries, and she was poisoned in the previous installment. Taking that into account, her body would have undergone distress. It just so happens that whatever deity you live by gave her a child, and the 'doctor' happened to know that she was pregnant for one week._

City in Pieces

Chapter Seventeen: What Chance Does Best

Chance considered the operation to be quite simple in theory, but by the laws of luck and fortune, events such as their plans never followed through accordingly. Batman's intermission confused the chronological order of the steps to get to success, and in every way, he managed to confront her. During her operations with Two-Face, they were simple bank robberies, extortions—simple money matters—but Batman would arrive there on scene, ready to muck up the intended. He was unbiased, too, when it came to doing this: he did it when Chance worked with Ace as well. They would exchange playful banter then proceed to throw down like the teenage brawls in secondary education, and sometimes a getaway was swift and clean, but there could only be so many lucky strokes before running out.

Chance considered this train of thought with carefulness and extenuated trails of cause-and-effect events that would precede the Gotham Stock Exchange. On motorcycles, it would be difficult to target anybody in a police car and vice versa. If Detective Foley was on the job, which he probably was since Gordon was hospitalized, he'd have no trouble slamming into Bane's men with their cars. A few dents would result, sure, but the motorcycles would be trashed. And there would be casualties. Gordon always requested survivors. Foley was a twenty-year man with a death wish for those who opposed the Gotham police.

That night, as was discussed, Chance slipped into bed with Bane, quieter than usual. He noticed her silent disposition with a turn of his head. He was seated against the headboard, holding the glowing tablet in his hands. Chance could guess that he was familiarizing himself, for the third time, with the plan in the morning. She gave him a small smile when she noticed that he turned his attention to her.

"You're making a lot of noise," he told her drily.

She chuckled. _Funny._

"I was just thinking some things over."

He returned his eyes to the tablet. Chance glanced to it mindfully. He scrolled through the bank account figures and transmission sequences.

"Good things, I'm hoping," said Bane. His low voice, content and soft as it always was toward her when they were private, was nearly human instead of his booming voice behind a restrained mask. Chance enjoyed his tone of voice during these times. "With this entire project lying on your shoulders," he continued, "I remain optimistic that our plans will go as expected."

Chance bit the inside of her cheek. When she didn't respond, he turned to her again.

"These _are_ positive notions that are rolling in your brain, aren't they?"

She shrugged, though the motion was unconvincing.

He set the tablet on the end table beside his edge of the bed.

"Is there something troubling you?"

"I'm not sure," she said honestly. "It's fencing."

"Tell me."

"All right," she sighed. "I know I'm only a week pregnant, which technically, there's nothing there; however, it poses some kind of danger tomorrow. I'll be on a motorcycle, in front of an armada of racing police vehicles, in line of fire, in Batman's jurisdiction. Seems a bit austere, don't you think?"

"You've handled much more hazardous situations, Chance." Bane said, nodding in agreement, though declining the concept.

"Yes, I'm not denying that. Of course, you're right. However," explained Chance gently, "I'm simply stating that since I'm attempting to give us an heir to lead on a legacy, it's lowering our chances of having one if I'm in the middle of the arena instead of in the stadium."

Bane's eyes searched hers briefly before answering.

"The situation will be contained, Chance."

She inhaled a slowly growing impatient breath

"And exactly how do you plan to 'contain' every person in Gotham?"

"We're taking hostages," said Bane plainly.

Chance's expression changed from skeptical to the usual impressed rise of her brow and upward infliction of her mouth.

"That does weight the bar in our favor a bit…" Chance muttered.

"You're worried about this child, Chance. It's a maternal instinct, to become suddenly aware of your mortality while bearing offspring—every mammal has that genetically written in their minds. I don't intend to deliberately throw you into, what you refer to as, the middle of the arena. If I didn't require your computer-savvy skills, I would keep you on the sidelines, where Daggett and his men reside. However, Chance, you are not useless, and, yes..." He met her eyes. "I do need you in the middle of the arena."

Chance smiled at him.

"How do you intend to keep Batman at bay?" she said curiously. "He won't stay in the shadows once he figures out that he's got enemies in his city."

"Well, despite Gordon's speech—I read it over at my leisure while you were away—Batman is still considered to be a menace. Once he shows his face, the police will take him down. That will let us get away safely, most of us unharmed." Bane looked at her momentarily. "And Bruce Wayne has figured out that he does have enemies in his city. You, for instance," he listed, "when you showed your face to him."

Chance caught the disapproval in his voice.

_Ah, I was wondering when you were going to talk to me about that._

"I'm not interested in the reason that beckoned you to show your face to Bruce, especially with having the knowledge that he's Batman. I know you enjoy the playful banter before initializing a fight; however, you should have walked away."

"He wanted to talk to me, Bane." Chance sighed, though she knew that it had been somewhat of a mistake to reveal her identity. "I imagine that he would have caught on if I said nothing to him."

"You fear for your safety while on a police pursuit, Chance. He _knows_ that you are working with me."

"He knows _of_ you, Bane," she corrected him patiently. "He mentioned your name. He knows that there is something below the belt happening. He confessed that to me. Bruce is intelligent; he's going to realize what you're doing one way or another," she said. Chance indicated the tablet that hibernated on the end table. "He knows by now that someone is intending to use his finger prints."

Bane regarded her thoughtfully.

"You admire Wayne."

"He's a noble man among decrepit, Sir," said Chance blamelessly. "He's doing a good thing for his city…It's a stupid thing to do, but it's good…" She objected lightly. She briefly fiddled with her fingers. "It's a good attempt."

"He disappeared for eight years." Bane pointed out. "Maybe it wasn't good enough."

Chance nodded.

"I was told," he continued, "that you have a certain ill-placed fondness for the Batman."

Chance smiled out of the reason that it was just amusing that he would point that out.

"Every girl likes a man in a firefighter suit," she excused.

Bane took that and said nothing more about it. He handed her the tablet.

"This project is time-sensitive, Chance. I've been working through the simulations three times consecutively. When we do get inside the Stock Exchange, you must concentrate your mind on the technology base of the operation. Computers, this tablet, the key cards, and the transmission code. The others and I will have crowd control. You just worry about re-routing Daggett's funds."

"Duly noted," stated Chance dutifully.

The Gotham City Stock Exchange was a scene of frenzied activity. Buyers and sellers, wearing jackets and wide suspenders, crowed the trading floor, shouting orders and keying them their hand-held wired devices. The latest stock prices and interest rates scrolled across the countless flat-screen monitors mounted all around. It was impossible to look in any direction without seeing a flood of financial data. Computer terminals facilitated electronic trading. Canvas banners extolling the GCSE hung above the busy traders. Sweat mixed with expensive cologne, which in turn mixed with the greed in the air. It was going to be closing time, but the trading was still going strong.

Chance anticipated all these likely events, according to her knowledge of human behavior when approached with money; though the literal presence of money was absent in the building. Chance took the matters into account. She stood in the command center, thoroughly familiarizing herself with the programs as Bane had been doing last night. Her eyes raced knowingly through the shifting numbers, rising line graphs.

Bane was right to assume that, though her abilities in the field were lowered since she joined the League of Shadows, Chance was quite electronically-inclined and adaptable with computers—anything that could be shut down by an electromagnetic pulse. In her younger years, starting from high school graduation, she had started a criminal record by hot wiring cars from parking garages in the long hours of the night for Ace, who was always the perfect wheelman. Bane could have one of his men perform the transfer, but he was much more confident in Chance, since she knew more about the city's limits and routines, rather than entrusting the operation to an immigrant from eastern continents.

Bane had assembled into a leather jacket over a bullet proof vest. He held a red helmet in his hand as he approached Chance at her side. She lacked only a helmet of her own. She wasn't dressed in military fatigues. She donned a black tank top under a slim, petite leather jacket, dark jeans, and calf-high boots. Black, fingerless gloves exposed slender finger tips that cross-referenced the information on the glowing screens.

"You seem prepared," he told her. "I wouldn't risk wearing nothing over this, though," he indicated her head by lightly pulling on her blonde hair that was pulled up in a ponytail. "I need it," he told her.

"Not to worry, dear," she said, staring at the screen. "I intend to wear a helmet."

"You've been over this plan frequently, Chance." Bane said.

"Better safe than sorry."

"Chance, you have a much stabilized memory," he retorted.

With that, she turned to look at him.

"I am happy that I don't have to reassure _you_ of that, Sir."

"Calm down, Lieutenant," he told her, amused at her anxious expression. "I have full confidence in you. Here." Bane handed her a black motorcycle helmet off the edge of a nearby table. "The others are ready. I prepared them before you woke up. Let's move out."

Chance turned back to the screens for one final check-up. With some uneasy certainty, Chance passed a hand around the room; the system slowly shut down according to her orders. She took the helmet and held it under her arm. Bane handed her the electronic tablet and Bruce Wayne's keycard, and then followed him out of the little room. From the crowd of men dressed in the familiar attire as the two of them, Bane made a motion in the air for the soldiers about the sewers to move out. Eight to ten men followed Bane and Chance in a line. Bane gestured for her to come to his side, so that they could speak as they were heading out of the sewer grates.

"Three other men are in the Stock Exchange building already," said Bane. "They are undercover. Once we're in, they'll have crowd control. Once I clear the situation, you do you work."

"I'll do my part," she assured him, stronger in confidence as they started out, "just get me in there.

Out of the sewers, the men split up in pairs; Bane took Chance's hand and guided her to a back alley. At this time of the night, hardly anybody wandered on the sidewalks so close to downtown. Chance searched for life on the street, though only a few strays walked the pavement. She followed Bane through the darkness. Bane handed her a satchel; she tossed over one of her shoulders. Chance pocketed the key card in the front of her jeans; the tablet went into the deep pocket of the satchel for safe-keeping. Bane threw a leg over the motorcycle seat and pulled down the red helmet over his head. Through the lightly-tinted windshield of his helmet, she could see his eyes watch her. Chance pushed her helmet over her ponytail. She steadied her body, using Bane's shoulder as support, and boarded the two-wheeler. Chance wrapped her hands around his waist.

Bane pushed the motorcycle to ignition. With a roaring start, the air was filled with gasoline as the motorcycle screeched tires, speeding down the road. Chance's hands tightened around his waist at the sudden burst of speed, startling her only momentarily. The whistling air and the thundering _vroom_ of the vehicle built a thrill in her lower stomach, more roused than frightened that they were heading toward more danger with every mile that was lessening.

As they flew down the lanes, Chance noticed around that several motorcycles joined them. Bane was the only one who had an additional passenger. Chance turned her head in time to see the vision of her helmet obscure as Bane jerked the handle bars roughly to the right, screeching across the hardened concrete in a risky fashion.

_Perhaps I'll die on the way there,_ she thought humorously.

Bane raised his hand in the air; Chance turned her head to see the drivers look up—they peeled away from them, diverting into separate paths. Bane slowed as they approached a large establishment, the Stock Exchange. They went along the back of the building. Bane parked the motorcycle on a sidewalk close to the rear entrance. Chance dismounted it when he put down the kick stand. She pulled off her helmet, pulled out of her ponytail, and pulled back again. Chance looked at Bane, who dismounted the vehicle, still wearing his helmet.

Without question, she and Bane marched up to the rear entrance of the building.

There were no policemen. There was no Batman.

_So good, so far,_ Chance thought nervously.

To outsiders, Chance and Bane would appear to be couriers in the dark. Her face would be recognized by law enforcement, though she highly doubted that the Stock Exchange security guards would ever know who she was. She approached the latter in front of her commander as if to walk in smoothly with no problem.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said the bored security guards at the front door. A female officer and a male officer held out their hands dutifully. Chance stopped in front of them. Bane waited behind her. "Even for a pretty face," said the male, "we can't let your friend in. We need faces for the camera."

Chance shrugged, turning to her friend.

"You heard them, _friend._"

Bane's shoulders shrugged. He reached for his helmet and pulled up.

The female officer gasped loudly at the appearance of the second courier, and she fumbled for her taser. Chance ducked—Bane lunged forward without hesitation. His hands grabbed her entire body and lifted her over his head; he hurled her at the other guards that were coming to assist her. They all tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Chance rose to her feet as she watched Bane do what he did best. She secretly admitted it that she enjoyed seeing him brutalize others. Chance smirked. The security guards tried to scramble to their feet, but Bane was among them, dispatching the outmatched men and women with ruthless efficiency. His boot stamped on one guard's throat, crushing his windpipe, while he caught another guard in a headlock, snapping her neck, even as his fist slammed into a third guard's face, driving shards of bone and cartilage into his brains. Bones shattered beneath his expert blows, ribs cracked, shins and knees and collars snapped. Blood spurted.

Chance examined the dead bodies on the floor, piled like trash. Bane tossed a fifth guard's corpse aside. The guards never had a chance.

"Well," said Chance, thoroughly impressed, "you never cease to amaze me…"

Bane set his hand on the small of her back to walk her through the door.

"I could have joined in," she opted.

"Yes," he said breathlessly, "but I'd much rather you do your fighting in the computer system."

When Chance and Bane approached the door that led into the nucleus of the Stock Exchange, a man charged onto the trading floor. He pulled out a sub-machine gun and opened fire on the monitors, which exploded in a shower of sparks and shattered plastic. A much more violent chaos erupted in the room as horrified traders and customers hit the floor or raced for the exits, though they retreated as the rest of Bane's gunmen entered the room through them. The mercenaries herded the hostages into the center of the room; the people held up their heads behind their head helplessly. Chance imagined that several recognized her face already, though she put aside as one of her problems that she'd come to face when in a public arena.

Desperate traders begged for their lives. One hostage from the peanut gallery approached Chance defiantly, stepping right in front of her. The guards rounded their aim onto the man, ready to shoot if he should touch her. Chance, taking the man's angry face into account, gazed at the hostage with some interest.

"How dare you show your face," he said furiously, narrowing his eyes at her. "You cannot be in here!"

Chance turned on her heel and deliberately ignored him.

As if to respond to her neglect, the hostage cried out to her,

"This is a stock exchange! There is no money here that you can steal!"

Bane regarded him scornfully behind Chance's back.

"Then why are you people here?"

He seized the outspoken trader by the neck and dragged him over to one of the many automated terminals. He took the man's hand forcibly and pushed his thumb into a scanner; it hummed briefly before recognizing it. The screen lit up helpfully. He indicated for Chance to set up. Chance sat down in front of a slim-backed laptop; she withdrew the tablet from her satchel. Rising slightly, she took the keycard from her back pocket and set it on the table. Chance clicked rapidly on the keys. Then an error report popped up onto the screen, stopping the procedure.

"What's the problem?" asked Bane from behind her chair.

"Nothing that he can't fix," she indicated the outspoken trader.

Bane peered at the screen. In order to get into the program, Chance needed the man's typed permission. Bane snapped his fingers at the now nervous trader.

"Enter your password," he said, "or I send these men to your home."

Chance glanced up at him swiftly, amazed. The trader side-stepped Bane, and even looked more drained when he set his hands on the keyboard in front of Chance. He hurriedly typed in twelve keys. Chance counted his fast fingers to see the password: _GreedE4Mone. _With a look of disdain as the computer accepted his premise, Chance pushed him away from her working space. She attached the tablet to a USB cable, and plugged the port into the other side of the computer. Beside her, Chance moved a reader closer to her work space. She grabbed Bruce Wayne's fingerprints and slipped the keycard into the single slot.

Bane stood behind her and watched her do her part. He was appreciative of his first instinct to bring her along rather than a fellow man. Chance definitely knew what she was doing. Figures raced across the terminal's screen. Chance absorbed the rampant statistics. Bane gazed her fleetingly, a bit astonished himself at her prowess, but then turned to look over the rest of the room.

Whiskey approached Chance from behind.

"What is all this?" he asked.

Chance counteracted the data on the computer screen with some of her own. Instead of making them up, Chance confused the drive by hard wiring all the figures she had memorized by putting them in reverse order, pushing back to the starter of the machine to find the time of the last withdrawal or deposit of Bruce Wayne's account and Daggett's account.

"This," said Chance, staring into the glowing green numbering, "is the online trading desk. If I wanted to," she said, "I could make even the money under your mattress worthless."

Wild sirens cried out from the outside of the building.

"Looks like Foley's caught on," muttered Chance, unmoved.

"Never mind it," Bane dismissed.

There was a lowering volume in the room; the lights flickered—Chance glanced at the computer display. It glimmered hazardously before her eyes. Chance pulled her chair closer to the table.

"What's happening?" said Whiskey, looking about the room.

"They're cutting the fiber line, shutting down the cell tower," reported Chance cryptically.

Bane observed the lights above.

"The cell's still working," Chance assured him.

"For now," said Bane. "How much longer does the program need?"

Chance turned to the tablet. It whizzed angrily, and then a loading bar popped up. She smirked at it—Chance glanced at the computer screen—

_Funds Activated: Transfer will be completed in a few minutes._

"Eight minutes," Chance reported. "The download this morning quickens the process. It should only take under ten minutes, Sir."

Bane glanced up at the clock on the wall. Under ordinary circumstances, the closing bell would have run minutes ago, ending all the computers. Chance's hacking bought them two or three more minutes than what would have been expected.

"Disconnect the tablet, Chance."

He turned to the other gunmen.

"Time to go mobile."

Chance disconnected the USB cables. She rose to her feet and leaned forward. She rapped on the keyboard sufficiently with enough speed; Bane watched the men file around the room. He glanced at his lover, who was concentrating still.

"What are you doing, Lieutenant?"

"Re-routing the system." Chance answered. "Making it," she said, pressing _Enter,_ "so that even when we're miles away, they won't be able to stop the download."

"Good girl," he told her. "Pack up."

Chance turned to Whiskey. She tossed the tablet into his hands.

"Watch the bar, Whiskey," she told him. "When it's complete, show Bane, and then we really burn rubber…" Chance glanced at Bane. "Assuming that we get out at all…"

The agents took several unwilling traders from the herd of hostages as planned. They begged for their lives.

"We're taking separate motorcycles, dear," said Bane. He handed Chance the keys. "Take the one outback. The officers, no doubt, know that you're with me. They'll be targeting you. You're wanted for the same charges that Ace is imprisoned for. "Grab one," he told her, indicating the hostages, "and attach him to the back of your motorcycle. They won't shoot as long as you're guarded. They'll be snipers outside, waiting for us to get out of the front. Take the rear entrance, move quickly. They won't hesitate to kill you."

Chance nodded, listening to his orders.

"We'll regroup on the interstate."

"Be careful," she told him strongly.

"Of course," he said.

With that, he departed through the front with the rest of them. Whiskey turned to her.

"If you get caught," Chance told him directly, "don't say a single word."

"I'll die before talking." Whiskey promised, pocketing the tablet.

"Good man. Go."

Whiskey followed Bane.

Chance turned around to look at the defiant trader who had confronted her before.

"You come with me," she ordered him.

"No, I know you."

Chance scoffed. She aimed her pistol at him, square in the face.

"Then you know that I don't have a problem delivering you in a closed casket."

He gulped. Chance grabbed his sleeve and pulled him with her.

Chance turned and retreated through the way she came. The moment she touched pavement, shots fired around her. The hostage with her gave a cowardly wail, falling to his knees. A swarm of blue and red covered the entire street. Every cop in Gotham was here, ready. Chance spotted the snipers hiding in the fire escapes. Chance raised a pistol to each one and pulled the trigger. They readied their fire. Chance pulled the man at her feet to his knees. She pushed him in front of her, held his hands behind his back, and put the pistol to his temple.

"Stop or I shoot this man!"

Her accent clashed with the hostage's city voice. Foreign and exotic, Chance could definitely tell that she had spent a lot of time in Italy and Bulgaria. And around Bane.

No shots were fired around her.

"Move," she ordered the hostage in front of her. He stepped lively, crossed the parking lot nervously all the while. They approached the motorcycle. She grabbed the nape of his collar, keeping him close.

"Get on."

"Please, just let me go."

"Get on the fucking bike."

She held the gun to his face. He nodded, obedient, and mounted the back of the bike.

"Face the other way," she instructed.

He didn't hesitate. He sat on the back of the seat, staring away from the right direction. Chance mounted the bike as well.

"You can't possibly think that this is the right thing to do, Chance," said the hostage over the blaring sirens of the police cars.

"Shut up," she said, becoming irritable.

She mounted the bike. The hostage clung to the seat for dear life.

Chance shoved the keys into the ignition and pulled back the hydraulic handle bar. The motorcycle roared. As guns aimed toward her direction, Chance heard more engines starting. Chance gunned the motor, racing straight toward the cop cars. She ramped up one of the nearby citizen trucks and passed over several cars. The hostage screamed violently on her vehicle.

As she started forward, Chance looked at the front of the building just in time to see a group of released hostages hurry forward, crying out in panic, as the front door blew open and four high-speed motorcycles leapt from the inside of the building, jumped the front steps, and touched down on the pavement in front of the cops.

Chance saw terrified hostages strapped to the rear of their bikes as well, their silk ties blowing in the wind. The red helmet on the first bike hurried toward Chance; she automatically recognized him as Bane. Altogether, their bikes vaulted over the heads of surrounding police officers, speeding into the night. Chance pushed her bike to the limit, hearing the sharp screams of the unstrapped passenger.

Breaking every speed limit in the book, Chance, Bane, and their fellow men wove through now what was packed, evening traffic. Horns honked angrily as they ran red lights with abandon, causing startled drivers to slam on their brakes—several were rear-ended. Pedestrians scrambled for safety. A city bus pulled to the side to let a patrol car race by.

Chance raced through the streets, rejoining beside Bane; he glanced at her from his bike. He raised his left hand and pointed toward an upcoming exit, which would dip into the subway tunnels off the highway. The hostage on her bike cried out horrifically as Chance turned abruptly to make the turn. Chance reached behind her to keep him from falling off.

A wave of darkness advanced through the tunnel, extinguishing every light it encountered. It didn't only apply to overhead lights on the tunnel walls—even headlights went out. Chance remained stone-faced.

"Time for you to get off," she told her passenger. "Jump!"

The hostage didn't need convincing. He was gone in minutes. Chance already knew what was happening.

Batman.

Out of the inky blackness, a shadowy shape roared past several PT cruisers at high speed. An ebony cape flapped behind it. Chance glanced behind her to see Batman on his modern-based Batpod. Chance gunned the engine. Burnt rubber filled her nostrils. The tunnels opened onto the highway. Bane led the way while Whiskey took up the rear. Chance pushed toward Whiskey, adjacent to his bike. His hostage was already missing. Whiskey turned to Chance, who motioned for him to show her the tablet. He steadily reached into his large pocket and it held up to her.

Two minutes.

Chance gave him the thumbs up.

She hurried toward Bane, who was in the very middle. He looked back over his squirming hostage to see the street lights exploding behind him, one by one, throwing the highway into darkness. Batman was coming closer. Chance slowed, meeting Whiskey at the rear, who was looking slightly panicked—his head was darting over his shoulder, trying to find Batman.

He tossed Chance the tablet. She pushed into a front carrier.

To Chance's dismay, Whiskey's bike's engine choked and died. Chance watched, horror-stricken, as his bike pelted forward. The hostage behind him unstrapped himself and leapt from the back of the bike. Chance saw Whiskey draw his gun: he wouldn't go out without a fight. His bike toppled over on him with a sudden stop. Chance turned away and pulled her accelerator, gaining speed.

Becoming angry, Chance looked over her shoulder.

_Show yourself!_

She glanced at the road then looked over her shoulder once more.

"Show yourself, you fucking piece of sh—!"

Chance's angry cry was forestalled as an armored figure pursued her from the black veil; his cloak billowed behind him on his customized, black motorcycle like wings of an enormous bat.

As if by cue, the police shifted their target from Bane to the most wanted man in the city. Chance saw behind her a flood of the entire Major Unit followed Batman, who was close behind her.

Chance pulled a pistol and rounded it on Batman's face. He dodged them, swaying to the right. The agents in front of her veered different paths. Chance followed Bane. She saw a second man; though she didn't know which it was, have the same problem as Whiskey. His engine sputtered, but unlike Whiskey, he didn't panic. He stoically let the engine die, and he crashed to the ground. Batman swerved dramatically to avoid hitting him; the maneuver cost him several miles between he and Chance. Whoever risked his life had done it out of hope that Bane would get away.

Chance was adjacent to Bane's bike.

Although Chance had gotten away from Batman, she knew that he wasn't going to let them go without good effort on his part. As expected, a grappling hook shot through the air, whizzing angrily, as Batman tried to pull her back. Chance reached into the front of her motorcycle's chassis, to take a wire and a lock. As she continued to gun the gear, she took the wire and wrapped it quickly around the accelerator. Bane glanced at her, then a double-glance. She imagined that he was questioning her premise.

She geared the motorcycle to keep speeding with no help on her part. She slowly let go of the handle bars, keeping her legs in balance. Any sudden movements would send her body toppling to the concrete into a blood pulp.

Chance wouldn't be able to make the jump with localized visage. She pulled off her helmet—At the speed, air filled her head, making it difficult to hear anything. Her hair flew madly around her head. Behind her, she tossed the helmet in front of the police flood's way. One hit it hard, skidding to the edge of the road. Chance glanced to Bane.

_Oh, God, this is a bad idea…_

The grappling hook caught Chance's bike by the rear tire—Chance rose from the seat quickly—Bane stared at her, glancing at the road only to see if there was traffic. As the grapple hook pulled with an almighty wrenching of the gears, Chance risked her life—she jumped off the seat and landed on the back of Bane's motorcycle with difficulty. Her added weight caused the bike to maneuver unsteadily—Bane corrected it immediately. Chance wrapped her hands around his waist. She glanced behind her to see her motorcycle get torn to shreds by pursuing police cars behind Batman.

Bane's voice was loud and thunderous, even overpowering the blearing wind in Chance's ears,

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING?"

"It's him, Bane!" Chance screamed over the noise. "It's him!"

Bane glanced behind him. Only one other agent of shadow followed beside them, holding the hostage. Behind the agent, he recognized the EMP effects—the lights going off—Only one person could employ such a device. He knew that Chance's proclaim was true.

So he made a decision.

"Shoot him!" said Bane directly to Chance, handing her a machine gun, indicating the following man that belonged to them.

"He's one of ours!" Chance yelled, taking the machine gun.

"Shoot the hostage!" Bane clarified.

Chance clung to the bike with her legs, turned, and aimed directly at the seat of the man's hostage. Chance fired. Chance watched the bike teeter dangerously as the hostage clung to the fellow agent for dear life. Chance watched Batman head the other direction toward the hostage. Compassion was his greatest weakness.

Chance imagined that Bane was smiling through his mask.

Bane tore through the streets as the cops now pursued Batman. He followed an abandoned road that led to Gotham Port Harbor. At the city docks, he slowed the bike to a halt. Chance dismounted. Bane threw off his helmet and approached her. Chance didn't know what he was doing until he grabbed her satchel and took out the tablet, glancing at it. Chance had known that the process had been complete. Pleased, he took the tablet and put it back. Next order of business.

"You cease to amaze me, Chance." Bane told her. His tone of voice was hard to thread. Pleasure or disapproval?

"Thank you?" she muttered. When he didn't reply, she continued. "We lost two men."

"They're not dead," he said dismissively. "They were thoroughly armored, unlike you."

"They won't talk," she assured him, as if he needed it.

"Of course not." Bane told her. "Onto the next step. By now, what we've done today has screened onto Gotham News. I want you to go to Daggett, update him, and wait for me."

"He'd know that we didn't do what he's expected," warned Chance.

"I know."

"Should I stall?" questioned Chance as Bane headed toward a nearby manhole.

"Endure him, Chance. It's one of the things that you do best." Bane dismissed her.


	18. Back From the Dead

Author's Note: _I know that was quite a long chapter. I hope you enjoy this one just as much._

City in Pieces

Chapter Eighteen: Back For More

John Daggett's luxury penthouse occupied the top floor of a skyscraper in a ritzy uptown neighborhood overlooking the park. Flashy gold trim and black leather furniture advertised his wealth. He paced restlessly back and forth across the king-sized living room while Stryver stood nearby, in case his boss would need him. Every television in the penthouse was tuned to the breaking new story.

"—police aren't saying much," a blonde anchorwoman reported. "Frankly, they're too busy. But all signs suggest that we're seeing the return of the Batman."

Daggett turned to Chance Bremly, who was standing in the focal point of his pacing. Her arms were crossed and she looked impatient. Daggett hadn't offered her any beverage; in fact, he was too mad at her. He glared at the television screen, but turned to her with more anger in his face.

"Your commander sent you? I can't believe I'm always talking to _you_."

"Considering that Bane is still occupied with the operation, _Sir,_" said Chance, turning her eyes to him in obvious annoyance, "I would think he wouldn't be able to talk to you."

"If I wanted to talk to a woman," said Daggett, "I'd pick up one myself. You're the epitome of irresponsibility! Every time you come here, you tell me some bad news, and_ I _pay for it!" he roared at her.

He approached her angrily. Stryver fiddled his hands uncertainly. Chance narrowed her eyes at Daggett, who was about to open his mouth again, until more news reigned over the television.

An aerial shot of a cloaked figure was broadcasted over the television screen; a news copter briefly captured the armored motorcycle in its search light. The masked cyclist was crouched low upon the wheels, tearing up the highway at high speed. Chance glanced at the screen, recognizing Batman. Chance's eyes concentrated on the television screen as she watched herself appear on the camera, throwing off her helmet. The news reporter commentated,

"After eight long years, it appears that not only has Batman emerged from the shadows of secrecy, but world-wide known Chance Bremly, also known as the 'Lieutenant' has also returned for what we can only anticipate is another spree of chaos."

Chance watched the stunt that she pulled on the motorcycle flash on the screen.

"It is likely," continued the reporter, "that Chance Bremly has associated herself with the masked man, though official reports are unsure if this is just the beginning of her plans, or if she just so happens to be running with the crowd.

"As many Gothamites may recall, Chance Bremly was well-known to wander in the circles of highly-feared and dangerous criminals, including with her close friend and ally, Ace, who is presently locked up in Black Gate Prison.

"Her present location is unknown, though anonymous reports claim that the Lieutenant circles often in down town. Investigation is pending."

Daggett turned to Stryver.

"Where is he now?" said Daggett furiously.

"He's occupied, I said," said Chance, annoyed.

"Well, we have a problem, don't we?" ranted Daggett once more approaching Chance aggressively. "You see that man on the screen? The one with ears? He's going to make our plans harder than ever!"

"The Batman interfered, yes," said Chance, retaining some composure, "but the task was accomplished. I watched it myself."

"Oh, so that must mean you're truly qualified!" Daggett retorted. He was in Chance's face. "Did you program it like you should have?"

"It went as we intended, John," replied Chance.

"What about those men that were left behind?" Daggett interrogated. "Those men that were arrested?"

"They won't speak," assured Chance.

"Just because you say so, that doesn't give me insurance."

"Bane said that they'll die before they talk, Daggett," argued Chance, unfolding her arms. "He said so himself."

"Bane can trust where his men are concerned," he said, rounding on her, "but you seem to have trouble obeying the rules."

"He gives me leeway," said Chance in return.

"I wonder what you're doing in order to get that privilege. It seems quite obvious to me." When Chance didn't say anything, he turned from her and muttered aloud, "Where does he find these guys? Come with me, girl."

"_Girl?"_ said Chance, becoming furious.

"Oh, did I step over a boundary."

"It's a fine line."

"Oh," said Daggett. He collected himself. "Stryver, open the champagne. Since Bane has it all under control, we might actually have some fun ourselves. Chance, anything?"

"I told you," she reminded him irritably, "I don't drink."

"Oh, right, of course. Chance," he said, most likely out of an attempt to be polite, "please follow me." He headed out the door. "Stryver, can we get some girls in here?"

From beside Chance, a female's voice spoke,

"_Be careful what you wish for._"

Chance saw Selina Kyle emerge from shadows. A woman in tight black leather leapt through the doorway. Grabbing Daggett, she threw across the living room, slamming his back into a wall. Chance, slightly surprised and amused, watched Daggett withdrawal a gun from his holster; however, Selina threw up her leg, impossibly high, and used her heel to trap his wrist to the wall at shoulder height. He whimpered in pain as she leaned in toward him. Her face was hidden behind a black mask.

"Cat got your tongue?" she purred.

Daggett started, but it took him only a moment to recognize Selina Kyle, or rather Catwoman. It looked like their business wasn't over just yet. It seemed to Chance that Selina might have discovered that the supposed 'Clean Slate' wasn't even in Daggett's house. Daggett, a bit helpless, glanced at Chance for assistance.

"You're in my employment," he told her as leverage.

Chance approached Selina in a leisure walk. Selina turned her head, silently questioning Chance's decision to act.

"You're right, Daggett," said Chance lightly, peering at him over Selina's shoulder. "But actually, I'm in Bane's employment. So, technically, I can't do anything about this situation. Selina, continue."

Selina plucked the gun from Daggett's trembling hand and flung it across the room.

"You dumb bitch," he muttered.

"Nobody ever accused me of being dumb," she replied.

"Dumb to show up here tonight."

She dug her heel in, grinding his wrist against the wall.

"I want what you owe me."

Chance heard Stryver come across the corner. He pointed a gun to Selina's head.

"Why haven't you done anything, Chance?" Stryver said. "Bane's not going to like to hear that you're being insubordinate."

"I can handle Bane," said Chance carelessly. She stepped away from Selina. "It's her that you have to worry about."

"'I want' never gets—" Daggett began, and then he stopped when she lowered her leg.

"Nice outfit," Stryver commented. "Those heels make it tough to walk?"

"I don't know," she replied. "Do they?" Without warning, she drove a six-inch steel stiletto heel into his calf. He let out an agonized scream even as she spun around and twisted his wrist, forcing him to release his gun. Stryver staggered backwards, clutching his leg. Selina stuck the gun in her belt and threw Daggett up against the wall again, with even more force than before.

"Where is it?" she demanded.

Chance glanced at Stryver, who was lying on the floor painfully.

"Where is what?" Daggett replied, playing dumb.

"The program. The 'Clean Slate'."

"Oh, yeah," he said. "The ultimate tool for a master thief with a record." He shrugged. "I don't have it."

She hissed, but before she could do anything more, body guards crashed through the door, approaching her. Chance watched Catwoman spin Daggett around, clutch him around his neck, shoot the window glass, and pelt them both out onto a nearby construction belt ten feet below. Chance had let the fun go on long enough. She started toward the window to see Selina hovering over a frightened Daggett. Selina hit a lever, and the pair of them went racing up the side of the building on the platform, up to the roof top. Chance turned to the body guards behind her.

"Come on!" she called raucously. "We all hate him, but we _are_ his employees!"

They took the stairs. Chance led the way, skipping three steps at a time. The group of mercenaries in Daggett's selection raced after her to assist their scumbag. At the top, Chance saw Daggett sprawled on the ground as Selina interrogated him.

"Where is it?" she repeated.

Chance held back the men, wanting to hear their conversation.

"The 'Clean Slate'?" he said. "Type in a name and date of birth, and in a couple of hours that person ceases to exist in any database." He smirked. "Little too good to be true."

"You're lying," she hissed. "Rykin Data took it into beta-testing!"

"That why I bought them," he admitted. "But they had nothing. It was just a gangland myth."

Selina rose to her feet.

Daggett staggered to his feet, and then looked weakly to Chance.

"Get her! Do it!"

Chance sighed. She snapped her fingers at the body guards. _Go on._

Armed men joined Selina Kyle and Daggett on the roof top, coming from several directions. As Chance had once, they sported military fatigues, surly expressions. Chance approached them slowly. Selina, split down the middle by her chasing a mirage, took Daggett by his throat, holding a loaded gun to his head.

"Chance," said Selina arguably, "we had a deal!"

"That was done," said Chance calmly. "Unfortunately, my help was given to your search for something that apparently doesn't even exist!"

"Stay back!" Selina quarreled, circling as the men started to come closer. "I'm not bluffing!"

"They know," said a gravelly voice from the shadows. Chance searched for him. "They just don't care."

All eyes moved to the source. Batman distracted Selina's enemies, drawing their attention to him rather than her. Selina released Daggett, who came running cowardly at Chance's side.

She turned to him.

"How am I looking now, Daggett?" she retorted unfavorably.

"Of course, I'm sorry," he muttered, standing behind her as if she was a human shield.

Chance knew that the mercenaries on the rooftop weren't Daggett's men at all. They fought Batman and Selina Kyle as a whole, better fighters, stronger men, and better marksmen than regular goonies. Chance stood out of the fight, so-called protecting Daggett from any more trouble. From the higher point of the penthouse, up a ladder, more of Bane's underground militia poured, coming to aid the men that were already there. Chance watched Batman clobber several mercenaries. He came toward Chance. Daggett ran like a coward he was, prompting to fire escapes. Batman approached Chance; she could definitely tell that he already knew that she was aware of his true identity.

"I like this look better on you," said Chance sweetly, indicating his hard-core armor. "Less snobby than the playboy billionaire tuxedo…"

"I don't want to patronize you, Chance," said Batman.

Chance shrugged.

"Sad, you seemed to enjoy talking to me last night."

Chance balled a fist and aimed for Batman's face. She slugged him one. She watched him recover from the blow. A cocked gun sounded. Batman lunged behind him to take Selina's hand, disarming a ready pistol that was aimed at Chance's face.

"No guns," he said, spoiling Catwoman's shot.

"You've got to be kidding me!" she called out, continuing to thrash the mercenaries.

"No killing," he said.

"Where's the fun in that?" said Selina.

Batman could handle Chance; however, more mercenaries started to envelope him as it dawned on the others that he was giving it all to the Lieutenant. They forced him away from Chance. The attention pushed Batman; he ran toward the edge of the building and pitched himself the edge. Selina followed suit and also jumped off the roof. Chance and her group of bodyguards headed toward the edge. They were blown away by a huge, flying aircraft that thundered into the sky. The downdraft left all but Chance on the ground. She glanced to the high peak to see Bane standing there, observing the fight.

She ascended the ladder to get to him. Bane helped her to her feet.

They turned to the sky to watch the Bat fly into the night.

It was inevitable. Batman had returned.


	19. Necessary Evils

Author's Note: I know that was quite a long chapter. I hope you enjoy this one just as much.

City in Pieces

Chapter Nineteen: Necessary Evils

Whiskey and Butch had been the two men that were arrested and taken into custody, no doubt held in the MCU. Rest assured, Bane was certain that they wouldn't say anything about the plan, about what happened, or what would happen. Though they were contained in Black Gate that night under the Dent Act. No parole. No bail. No way out until the liberation could come.

The next day, the newspaper headlines read _Batman Back To Foil Plan Or Mastermind Stock Raid?_ The second page read _Wayne Doubles Down—And Loses._

The application, to the apparent evidence within _Gotham News,_ had downloaded successfully. Bruce Wayne was, in a word, broke. Long-term, the financial investigators under his wing would be able to prove fraud, but at the moment, there could be nothing done. The only other way to keep Wayne Enterprises alive were two options: one, Bruce could hand over his parents' foundation to Daggett, or two and likeliest of the choices, he would hand it over to Miranda Tate. Her wealth would bring Wayne Enterprises out of poverty, and as she would be the new CEO of Wayne Tower, her first move would be to invest the reactor core that was located in Applied Sciences, below the division. Once Miranda was able to learn how to shut it down, and override the flood chamber should a security breach occur, then the plan would start coming together.

According to Chance's familiarity with Gotham's water systems, the hidden project was beside a recycling plant across the river from Gotham. Acres of abandoned scrap metal, surrounded by a barbed-wire fence, enjoyed a scenic view of the city's imposing skyline. Gulls and pigeons scavenged in the garage. Bins of discarded car batteries and electronics equipment waited to be disposed. Rust ate away at the accumulated refuse.

Chance described the environment to Talia.

They were in her mansion, enjoying the delights of a meal that Chance produced out of simple ingredients. Part of her modus operandi before she turned to Bane for leadership, Chance made meals for her victims before killing them as a courtesy. Years of doing so caused Chance to be somewhat of a creative chef in the making. Talia drank red wine from a glass. A week and a half pregnant, Chance didn't take the risk of harming the heir. She drank a Diet Coke out of a can as she stirred simmering noodles in a skillet; each burner had a vegetable array. A pleasant odor filled the galley.

"Of course," said Chance, biting into a piece of raw celery as Talia sipped her glass, seated at a bar stool as her comrade cooked behind the counter. Chance turned to her. "This all a rubbish dump, and it has to be that way. Wandering kids and all."

Chance let the food sizzle.

"Lucius Fox will bring you there. And you're not supposed to know this, but," she shrugged carelessly, "I figure that you will find out eventually."

A derelict-looking portacabin was hidden deep within the junkyard, behind towering heaps of scrap metal. Nothing but a glorified aluminum shed, with poorly, maintained siding, the one-story building would hardly seem worth anybody's time.

"Patiently," said Chance, "he will ask you to wait."

An empty office would be tucked away inside the cabin. Dust would cover every naked surface; beat-up office equipment would trash the small room.

"There is a switch under the desk that he'll flip," described Chance, turning back to the stove, "and the floor will sink in like a common elevator. It'll drop you to the deep chamber below. What you're wanting is hidden beneath the river and the junkyard, secreted from view." Chance continued. "Bruce Wayne will be waiting for you there. You'll see the reactor."

A black steel sphere, at least five feet in diameters, girded by segmented steel rings, powerful electromagnets. Green lights and gauges would be flicked over the surface. Diagonal steel trusses would make up the assembly, hanging several feet off the floor. An instrument panel would be located at the base of a left-handed buttress.

A drainage spot from the river would flow through the concrete troughs in the floor.

"No radiation, no fossil fuels," listed Talia, "nothing but free, clean energy for an entire city." She smirked. "For the moment."

"It won't be activated," said Chance casually, turning from the stove. She sprinkled powder over the lean green beans. A dark meat was roasting under the burners. She glanced at Talia. "The panel that drives it is a touch-screen.

"It's dormant. The ignition will work, but it won't stay charged. Lots of protection," drawled Chance with a smile, "over a damp piece of work that won't even go off."

"Of course, it works," said Talia.

"I know," said Chance with a smile. "Could you tell me how?"

"The Russian scientist Pavel. He published a paper on weaponized fusion reactions. One week later, it's developing problems. It works."

Chance nodded.

"If it _were_ operational, Gotham would be in danger. Obviously, under Bruce Wayne's supervision, this thing doesn't work. Bruce is certain that someone will figure out what Pavel had made. What we _have_ figured out, and what we intend to use this reactor for. Obviously, for a nuclear bomb."

Chance glanced at the stove then turned back to Talia. She leaned over the counter.

"He'll give you control of Wayne Enterprises. And the reactor. You'll do nothing with it, though," she added, drinking from her can of Diet Coke. "He'll want you to keep it out of the hands of those who will use it for, what he considers to be, evil. Guarantee its safety. If you can't save it, he'll want you to flood the chamber. He'll trust you," assured Chance deliberately.

Talia understood this. All of it was a basic review, but it was good practice to understand each part thoroughly. And Chance, being Bane's main woman at the helm, had enough memory in her mind to know and predict every single step. Bane's teachings hadn't gone to waste on her. Talia hoped that the heir of the League of Shadows would be so lucky to inherit her genes.

"What of Daggett?" asked Talia. "He won't be pleased to know that Bruce will give me the job that he wants?"

"You let Bane worry about Daggett." Chance said with a smirk.

The next night, Talia informed Chance that after a board meeting, Chance's step-by-step process of the day's events was most accurate. Knowing that Daggett would be especially _pissed off_, Chance informed Bane that she would handle the situation. Once more, she was right on the money.

Chance appeared before Daggett on request. She stood in the middle of the living room as Daggett stormed through his penthouse, absolutely livid in front of her. He waltzed up to her like she was the dirt under his $600 pair of Italian flats, red in the face.

"How the _hell_," he raised his voice to her, "did _Miranda_ Tate get the inside track on the Wayne Board? Was she meeting with him? Was she _sleeping _with him? Where is your duty in this, Chance? Where do you fit in my design? What precisely have you done to push the tidal wave in my direction? Have you even considered what could have happened? You should have tilted the saw my way!"

Chance glowered at him. Stryver stood beside Chance, not knowing what to do in order to calm his boss.

Daggett strode away from Chance only to walk back to her.

"Why am I talking to _you?_ Why are _you_ always here? Why am I put on the back-burner, exactly what makes you so credible to be able to talk to me? What _precisely_ makes you a good enough person—?"

"Get," said Chance dangerously, setting a hand in front of him to gently push him out of her personal space, "out…of my _face,_" she hissed at him.

"'Get out of your face'? I'm your _boss_! I can get in your face all that I want to? You know why?"

"Why?" said Chance, aggravated.

"Because that's what I pay you to do! That's why I can get in your face! I might actually do it now!"

He knocked her hand away and approached her. He screamed,

"What's up with all of you? Why am I talking to a woman like you? Do you even know what's going on?"

Chance bit her tongue.

"Hello? Can you answer me? Have you gone completely deaf?"

"I'm not listening to this…" Chance told him dangerously. She started to walk away. He grabbed her by the sleeve of her arm.

"I am paying _you_ to listen to—"

"You know what, you're starting to get on my very last nerve," said Chance pulling away from him.

"Where's Bane?" Daggett said, furious. He rounded on Stryver.

"I told him that it was urgent." Stryver said.

Daggett turned back to Chance.

"I swear to God, it's like working with monkeys." He marched up to her. "Do you know where your commander is? Do you know where is? Where is that masked—?"

A deep voice interrupted him.

"Speak of the devil…" he said.

Chance sighed in relief. Daggett spun around to find Bane standing under the frame of the living room door, his arms crossed over his chest. Air hissed from his mask.

"…and he shall appear."

Daggett clutched his chest, startled by Bane's sudden appearance. Chance was curious about just how much Bane had heard of Daggett's verbal assault on her. Bane didn't look pleased, so Chance was assuming that he heard enough. Daggett tried to regain composure. He seemed less on his game then when Chance was running solo. But he tried gain back control.

"What the _hell_ is going on?"

Chance bit the inside of her cheek. _What made him think that he could yell at Bane like that? It took for-goddamn-ever for me to be able to speak sternly to him…_

Chance hung back in the background.

"The plan is proceeding as expected," Bane answered flatly.

Daggett started walking toward the mercenary,

"You see me running Wayne Enterprises? Your stock exchange hit didn't _work_, my friend. And now you've got my construction crews working all hours around the city? How _exactly_ is that supposed to help _my_ company absorb Wayne's?"

Bane merely stared at him, weighing his option. Chance saw him glance at her momentarily before he slowly turned his head to Stryver. Daggett was _right_ in front of Bane, and Chance's commander towered over him about 6 more inches.

Bane ordered to Stryver, "Leave us."

"You stay right there!" Daggett ordered. "I'm in charge."

Chance watched Bane place his hand lightly on Daggett's shoulder. Amusement played in his dark eyes. Chance glanced at Stryver, who looked torn in his decision. His smug look vanished into one of a child who didn't know if he should stay with his mother or get in the car with his father. He turned to Chance helplessly. Chance nodded to the door. _Leave them._

He gave her a thankful nod, rushing out of the room. Chance considered Bane's gaze. She already knew what he was going to do. After all, Daggett's usefulness was running out anyway.

"Do you feel _in charge_?" he asked Daggett.

Daggett gulped, knowing that his last body guard slunk away from him, left alone in the room with Bane and Chance. Even if he did manage to get out of Bane's reach, there was patience left in Chance that would stop her from killing him.

"I've," slighted Daggett, "paid you a small fortune—"

"And that gives you _power_…over me?" Bane asked him.

His eyes squinted at Daggett at such a divine word to be used with a parasite like Daggett. Bane's hand rested heavily on Daggett's shoulder. The frightened millionaire, Chance could tell, was probably wishing that he still had to deal with her or perhaps Catwoman instead.

"What is this?" asked Daggett quietly.

Bane's hand slipped behind Daggett's head,

"Your money and infrastructure have been important," explained Bane, "until now."

Daggett's face was horror-struck.

"Also," said Bane on a relative note, "your impending death might not have come so swiftly, had I not walked in on your disrespectful assault on my lieutenant." He nodded his head toward Chance, who smiled appreciatively at him.

"What_ are_ you?" asked Daggett.

"I'm Gotham's Reckoning." Bane answered. "Come to end the borrowed time that you've all been living on…"

Chance watched him take Daggett's head in his hands. A primordial dread washed over the tycoon. He looked into the face of his destroyer as he grasped what Bane actually was.

"You are true evil…"

"I am _necessary _evil—"

A sharp crack ended the discussion.


	20. Chance's Deal

Author's Note: _I've been considering how to the end this installment; I've made at _least_ 7 revisions. I'm 70% sure that I'm going to be making a sequel after this. If you have any good ideas, just list them in your review of this chapter, or make a separate message. Thanks so much. _

_Let the games begin._

The City in Pieces II

Chapter Twenty: Chance's Deal

Selina Kyle flew down a suitcase onto a ratty couch. Packing in order to flee town, she grew steadily anxious about the impending man hunt that Bane would begin in order to track her down. She feared that she might have crossed some sort of line, assaulting Daggett; and no doubt, she considered that she had overstayed her welcome in Gotham after she took aim for Chance. Bane's right hand woman had kept her word, honestly, through this entire ordeal, but Selina just wanted to get going in order to avoid any more close calls. Bane terrified her, and she would rightfully admit it to any cop or any criminal. Everyone would begin to think that the world was okay again now that Batman had returned, but really, it was only going to get worse. Chance had said it herself, though Selina recalled that when the crafty Lieutenant spoke of the oncoming storm, she spoke it with positive connotations.

The rich lived so large, and when the storm came, and Bane did what he was intending to do, the social elite would wonder how they could have lived so wealthily and so abundantly, only to leave a small portion of happiness to the rest of the city. The poor still existed in Gotham. The rich just lived to far up in those penthouses that the little man couldn't be seen. Selina hoped it would happen. Though on some level, she wondered if she truly wanted it.

Selina admitted it to herself that perhaps she only wanted to get out of town before it hit, but the likelihood that she'd get out alive was very slim…She would try to get out before Bane's sent men to her door.

"Where are you heading off in such a hurry, Ms. Kitty?"

Selina turned to see Chance Bremly, speak of the devil, perched in her living room window. The window was open, a cool air breezed through the Lieutenant's long, blonde hair. Selina only recognized such a creature due to her military fatigues and the pair of piercing eyes in her head. Selina momentarily gazed at her. Chance found her.

"Bane sent you." Selina assumed.

Chance observed her as Selina thumbed for a pistol in her suitcase.

"Hm, don't bother." Chance sighed, slipping off into the living room. She closed off the draft from the window. Selina stared at her. "Don't worry," she continued, "I don't harbor any ill will toward you about the little stunt you pulled on the roof. I used to tattle 'round with a friend of mine who would kill me if her lover wanted her to; luckily, he never asked for my death. She never delivered it."

"I'm guessing that you're here to deliver mine," said Selina cautiously, standing a safe distance away from the assassin.

"It's not uncommon for those who cross my path to fear my return, Selina." Chance said to her, understanding Selina's wares. "I definitely have no qualms over your urge to shoot me with that gun," she nodded her head to a lump under Selina's pile of clothes in her suitcase. "However, I offer you something that you might like. That is," said Chance, raising her hands behind her head, "if you decide to spare my life."

"Put your hands down." Selina muttered. She continued packing.

"I'm not here to kill you," admitted Chance, leaning against the back of the couch.

"Then why the careful break-in? I figured that I was the only one that could climb two-story plus buildings without being recognized."

"You learn things under Bane's tutelage, Miss Kyle. I assure you, he's a great teacher. Just a little rough around the edges if you don't pick up the lesson after the first few times." Chance stated. Selina found it bizarre that she would have a loving caress in her voice when Chance spoke of Bane as if he were an honestly good man. Maybe to _her_, he was.

"What do you want from me?" said Selina. "I have no money."

"Nobody does," agreed Chance. "I talked to Bane. What we want isn't materialistic. We actually enjoy favors rather than the latter."

"Like the mob?"

"No," Chance declined the idea, "not like the mob."

Selina folded a pair of jeans into the suitcase.

"So what do you want?" asked Selina.

Chance smiled at her.

"Since you aren't our problem, really," began Chance, "I've made a deal with him, and he agreed with me. So, I'm offering it to you. It's no 'Clean Slate' as Daggett had promised you," she said, "but it's something more promising and much more real. All you would have to do is lead the Dark Knight to our residence below Gotham."

"Bring Batman to you in the sewers?"

"Yes. That's our little 'love nest'," said Chance. "You want to leave town without Bane's men after you, yes?"

"Or you." Selina clarified.

"Or me," Chance chuckled.

"Yes," said Selina.

"If you bring Batman to us, Selina, then neither my men or I will follow you. You're free to go," said Chance, still smiling.

"What's your problem with the Batman?"

"He's interfering," answered Chance vaguely.

That was good enough for Selina.

Selina considered her momentarily. But something still was weird about the whole deal.

"What about Daggett?" asked Selina cautiously.

"What about him?" said Chance casually.

"I don't want him badgering me anymore. My business with him is done."

Chance gave her an endearing smile.

"Daggett's out of the picture, Miss Kyle. I _assure_ you," she said pointedly, "he won't be contacting you any time soon."

Selina took that indication as the truth.

"So, _kitten,_" Chance strode around the couch, offering her hand, "have we got a deal?"

"I bring you the Batman and then I go free, right? That's all I have to do?"

"That's _all_ you have to do."

Selina glanced at Chance's open hand. She decided.

"All right."

They shook hands.

Chance nodded.

"Oh," she added, indicating the door, "you have a visitor. I think you and Bruce Wayne know each other." Chance waved goodbye at Selina, opened the window, and fell out of view. Selina turned to the door to hear a familiar uproar in the hall. Her friend, Jen, was yelling.

"I told you," said Jen loudly, "Money first."

"I don't think so," a man replied.

Selina froze, recognizing the voice. She rushed into the hall. Chance was right. Bruce Wayne stood by the stairwell, talking to Jen. Selina scowled at Wayne,

"He's not a mark," she explained. "And he doesn't have a cent to his name, anyway."

She regarded him suspiciously. Bruce entered the room to observe her worse-for-wear apartment. It wasn't a grandeur compared to Wayne Manor, but Selina could care less of what he thought about it.

"Yeah, it's not much," she admitted to him with a smirk. "But it's more than you've got right now."

"Actually, they're letting me keep the house," he said.

Selina shook her head in disbelief.

"The rich don't even go _broke_ the same as the rest of us, huh?"

Bruce didn't deny it. He glanced at her suitcase.

"Vacation?" he asked.

"Let's just say that I've incurred the wrath of some people less susceptible to my charms than you."

"My powerful friend hopes to change your mind about leaving," he said.

_Batman._

"And how would he do that?" asked Selina, curious.

"By giving you what you want."

"It doesn't exist," she replied.

"He says it does," Wayne said certainly. "He wants to meet. Tonight."

"Why?" she asked.

"He needs to find Bane. He thinks you'd know how."

Selina considered Chance's offer. Then she turned to Wayne.

"Tell him I'll think about it."

Wayne nodded, and started to leave. She called after him before he left.

"Mr. Wayne? I'm sorry they took all your money."

He glanced back, seeing straight through her.

"No, you're not."


	21. Confrontation

Author's Note: _Do you know how long that I've been waiting to write this scene? Like two months. Finally. Just an added bonus for my patience. ;)_

_Hope you enjoy this as much as Chance did._

The City in Pieces II

Chapter Twenty-One: Confrontations

Chance stayed in the shadows. Taking Selina's consideration into account, Chance knew that Batman would meet Catwoman in the darkness. Catwoman, and unknown to her, and Chance, were waiting in a subway tunnel, just beyond a lit passenger platform. Chance watched Selina pace impatiently along a service walkway. Selina watched the trains go by. Night vision goggles scanned the tunnels in both directions. Chance hid along the ceiling, stepping on several beams of the tiller that let the trains smooth through the railroad without delay. Chance wanted to make sure that nothing would mess up this plan.

Chance considered informing Batman that he would meet some trouble. Bruce Wayne, after all, when he didn't know who she was, had been quite the dancer on his feet; that and he seemed honest and truthful. He wanted to help these people, even help the cat burglar who took his mother's pearls and took his Aventador. Chance quickly expelled the thought. Chance felt slight regret in turning in such a noble man, especially one who wanted the best for his people, but she wouldn't let seventeen years of training go to waste. Chance also considered the repercussions of her actions, should she betray Bane. She knew the worst of him. He could kill her. He _would_ kill her.

Chance was on all fours, watching the shadows. Selina stopped pacing all at once. Chance followed her immediate gaze from the shadows.

"Don't be shy," she said playfully.

Batman emerged from the darkness, joining her in the tunnel.

"Wayne says you can get me the 'Clean Slate'," she said without preamble.

"That depends," responded Batman wearily.

"On what?"

"On what you want it for," he replied. "I acquired it to keep it out of the wrong hands."

"Still don't trust me, huh?" Chance could hear that Selina wasn't too surprised.

Batman had way too many introductions to female fatales. Chance was one of them. _Bruce_ had a hard time trusting those around him.

"How can we change that?" asked Selina with a smile.

"Start by taking me to Bane."

Selina had stolen the fingerprints; and now that Daggett was dead, she was, to Batman's knowledge, the only link to Bane. Of course, Batman could always track down Chance, but he didn't know that she was there. Chance wouldn't make her presence known until they were closer to the entrance of the sewer lair.

"Fine. You asked," she said.

With little warning, Selina sprang down the track, making not a sound. Chance rose to her feet, crossing the beams one by one. Batman followed closely behind her as she led him into a murky service tunnel. They descended deeper beneath the city, leaving the subway system behind as they treaded through a labyrinth of forgotten utility tunnels. Spider webs hung from the ceiling. Chance pushed away the homes of arachnids with little fear, watching the two of them from her hiding place. Rats scurried around her feet. Water dripped from the walls.

"From here, Bane's men patrol the tunnels," she said, "and they are not your average brawlers."

"Neither am I," he replied. "Where's the girl?"

"The girl? The _Lieutenant?_" inquired Selina with a light tone in her voice.

"She's somewhere around here, isn't she?"

From above, Chance's blue eyes peered through a curtain of spider webs.

"She stays close to Bane," said Selina.

"Protector?" asked Batman.

"Second-in-command," Selina answered.

"Is that what she does now?"

"From my understanding, I was told that she's in and out of the shadows. Last few years, she's been with Bane. I don't know what they're planning. It's big, though."

Batman looked around.

"I know she's near. Somewhere."

Footsteps echoed up ahead. She signaled Batman before grabbing onto a hanging pipe and swinging up and out of sight. Following her lead, he blended into the darkness.

Moments later, a squad of mercenaries came through, patrolling the tunnel. Leather jackets, military fatigues, and automatic weapons made it clear that these weren't maintenance workers, nor were they ordinary thugs. They methodically scanned the dimly-lit tunnel, but he could tell they didn't expect to find anything. Their guns were slung toward the door. Chance watched the action unfold below her spot, interested.

Catwoman dropped nimble behind them.

"He's behind you," she warned.

Chance noticed that the lead mercenary was actually String. He spun around in surprise. His eyes widened at the sight of the feline intruder. Confusion was written over his face.

"Who?" he demanded.

Batman dropped from the ceiling, hanging upside-down like the creature that was his namesake.

"Me," he growled.

They startled soldier of fortune didn't even have time to raise his weapon before the hanging wraith slammed into him like a wave of darkness, and then vanished back into the shadows. Caught by surprise, the other gunmen opened fire. Muzzle flares lit up the murky tunnel, and bullets blasted away at the ceiling.

The echoes deafened. Catwoman darted around the corner, pursued by a shouting mercenary. This one was Wick. He tried to keep Selina in his sights, only to feel powerful hands grab onto his shoulders and yank him up into the dark. His terrified scream was cut off abruptly and his weapon clattered to the floor. Chance narrowed her eyes.

He was taking her best men.

He picked off the rest of the patrol, one by one. A grappling line yanked one man off his feet; his head smacked against the hard stone floor. Chance watched McGarrity, a rookie, attack Batman—a second rookie tried to help him: Batman smacked their skulls together. An expert jab to a crucial nerve center dropped another man to the floor. The guns went silent, replaced by echoing man to the floor. The guns went silent, replaced by echoing shouts and bone-crunching thuds.

Chance frowned at him. She had felt a bit sympathetic for turning in a man of nobility, but he had taken out every single man that she had trained in years. Chance sighed irritably. She walked on the beams ahead of Batman, passed up Selina, then dropped to the floor. Chance wanted to see just how well he could fight the title. She entered through the threshold before Selina and Batman could appear there. They'd go through a metal catwalk. Run-off water rushed beneath her like an underground river. The lack of odor was an obvious sing that the water was purified. Chance glanced ahead of the catwalk to see Bane standing in the shadows. He gazed at her momentarily.

The look on his Lieutenant's face was apparent agitation.

Chance stepped on the catwalk, blocking vision from an intruder's sight of Bane, and waited for Selina to bring in Batman.

Batman and Selina came into view.

"Just a little further," Selina promised him.

As if on cue, a heavy steel grate slammed down between Selina and Batman. Bright halogen lights flared overhead, exposing the lair hidden deep within the sewers. A small army of mercenaries glared down from the various elevated gantries and platforms. The catwalk led between twin waterfalls that poured into one foaming channel one level below.

"Hi, stranger."

Batman looked up to see Bane's right hand woman standing in the middle of the catwalk. Dressed in a Marine uniform and dark boots, Chance stood, like an authority, in the middle of the headquarters, arms crossed, wearing quite an aggravated expression on her face. He glanced at her uncertainly, and then turned around to see Selina striding in front of him on the other side.

"Sorry," Catwoman said, "I was offered a way to stop them from trying to kill me."

Batman stared at her for the moment. He shook his head.

"You've made a serious mistake," he growled.

"But not as serious as yours, I fear," interjected Bane's deep voice from behind Chance.

Batman turned. Chance stepped onto the rail, ascending onto a ledge with Barsad, who helped her up. She stayed away from Batman, wanting to watch the show at a better seat. Bane emerged from the curtain of falling water. He wore the bullet proof vest over his rippling chest. Cargo jeans and boots daunted his appearance.

Chance smirked.

"Bane."

The infamous mercenary approached him.

"Let's not stand on ceremony here, Mr. Wayne."

Chance saw Batman's expression; he wasn't surprised to know that Bane knew his true identity. Perhaps he had pieced together the grand puzzle of Chance's new associate.

Chance glanced at Catwoman, who was visibly taken aback by the revelation. A look of regret came over her face. But it was too late now.

Batman glowered at Bane.

Without hesitation he launched himself toward his enemy. His cloak spreading out behind him, he swooped at Bane, drawing back his fist to deliver a knockout blow. His clenched knuckles flew at Bane, who caught it easily with his bare hand, squeezing it until Chance heard bones ground together. Bane looked up swiftly at Chance; he knew, after all, that she admired the caped crusader. However, Bane saw the look on her face. He had seen it before when he mirrored her enjoyment during an S&M session a few months back.

Chance was smirking out of pure malice, relishing the show from her seat.

Bane turned back to Batman.

Batman grunted as he attempted to punch with his other first, but Bane effortlessly blocked the blow.

"Peace has cost you your strength," Bane declared. "Victory has defeated you."

Batman's eyes widened; he had considered that Chance had simply become a better learner during his brawls with her. However, from his standpoint, it seemed apparent that Chance had a found a master. Strong and faster than anyone that Batman had fought before—even in his prime when he fought Ace—Bane slammed into Batman, knocking him backward. A roundhouse kick swept his legs out from under him, sending Batman tumbling off the catwalk toward the raging sewers below. Chance leaned forward to see Batman hastily extend his cape, using it to glide down to the concrete edge below, located near the base of the waterfall. He winced in pain, no doubt bruised beneath his protective armor.

Chance jumped off the ledge to shimmy down the chains to get a better look; Bane clambered after Batman, swinging down from a chain. Barsad and his companions watched in disciplined silence, enjoying the duel as much as Chance, who steadied herself on the stray balance beam, perched just a few feet above Bane and Batman.

As Bane approached, Batman plucked a handful of flash-bangs from his utility belt and flung them. Chance narrowed her eyes through the flashes of light, firecrackers that produced sparks, noise, and smoke. Chance didn't flinch, knowing Batman's initial attempt—neither did Bane, who had been the one to teach her.

"Theatricality and deception are powerful agents," he acknowledged, "to the uninitiated."

Chance practically was reliving their first training session. She considered from a therapist's point of view that the reason why she was enjoying this confrontation so much was that she was seeing what it was like to be weak and vulnerable a long time ago. She had evolved from this. Chance smirked as Bane came closer.

Batman lunged at Bane, striking with his fists and boots, anything to put Bane on the defensive. Bane countered his moves as if he were facing a reckless Ace. He targeted the weak spots in Batman's body armor, inflicting maximum pain, as much as possible, while seeming to possess no weaknesses of his own. Chance had assumed as much when she first fought him: a Superman with no Kryptonite.

They broke apart, facing off between the flowing channels.

""But we _are_ initiated," said Bane callously. "Aren't we, Bruce? _Members _of the League of Shadows." He glared at Batman over his mask. Scorn dripped from his voice. He seized Batman's neck, "And _you_ betrayed us…"

"Us?" Batman echoed, clinging to Bane's gripping hand. "You were excommunicate—from a gang of psychopaths."

Bane rejected the accusation. He beat Batman maliciously, and then tossed his enemy to the ground, watching Batman scurry away from him.

"Now I _am_ the League of Shadows," he said, "here to fulfill Ra's al Ghul's _destiny!_"

His voice echoed throughout the chamber.

Chance hadn't ever felt such a fascinating worship for Bane until now. She watched from her balcony, a wide, pleased grin on her face.

Batman staggered to his feet. He glanced up at Bane's perched pet on the beam, at Chance, hoping to plead with her; Chance merely gazed at him with little sympathy. Chance had him to blame, by line of reasoning, for Ace's imprisonment. She felt nothing when Bane punched him hard in the face; blood sprayed from Batman's mouth.

Batman hurled himself at Bane, knocking him on his back. Batman hammered his masked face again and again. Chance watched, wincing slightly. From her peripheral vision, she saw Barsad and his comrades start to move slightly. She held up a hand to stop them.

"No one leaves their spots, you understand?" she called to Barsad, who looked at his commander. She repeated, "Understand?"

He signaled for his companions to stand down.

Bane absorbed Batman's attacks; Batman took a moment to catch his breath. He let up, just for a moment, and Bane's arms shot out, smashing Batman aside. The mercenary rose to his feet. He glanced upward at Chance as Batman had, only to be met by a very wide smile on her pretty face.

Batman, breathing hard, flipped on his belt.

All the lights went out. Chance heard small gasps in the darkness. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. For five long years, she lived in it. Her blue eyes swept the room. She could see Bane, circling the walkway slowly, observing his surroundings. A caped man a few inches from Bane moved tepidly. Chance noticed the Batman. Surely Bane had, too.

"Ooh, you think darkness is your ally," Bane said, not worried. "But you merely adopted the dark. I was _born_ in it. Molded by it. I didn't see the light until I was nearly man but by then it was nothing to me but _blinding_."

Chance saw Bane lung backward into the darkness to catch Batman by his throat. He forced Batman to the ground, attempting to crush his windpipe.

"The shadows betray you, because they belong to_ me_…"

Bane took Batman's face in both his hand, lifted it, and smashed it against the concrete floor. His bare fists pounded into Batman's cowl, cracking his mask. Batman was concussed and breathless, unable to fight back. Bane rose above his battered foe. He gestured for the Batman to look to the ceiling, past Chance. There were holes drilled into the ceiling. Chance arranged the men to place explosive charges there. Chance glanced up there, reassured.

"I will show you," Bane said, "where I've made my home while preparing to bring justice to Gotham. _Then…_I will break you."

Bane looked up. Bane followed his gaze.

"Chance."

Batman heard his voice say her name. So softer than anything Bane had said before. Something different made Batman want to think that Chance hadn't just found a teacher. However, his mind came in and out of consciousness.

Chance jumped off the beam to land beside Bane. With a swift glance down at the bleeding bat at Bane's feet, Chance unbuttoned one of her trouser pockets at the knee and reached inside to withdraw a detonator. She handed it to her commander. From above, the men backed away, seeking shelter in side tunnels and alcoves. Chance glanced to the grate, where a nervous Catwoman watched. She covered her ears.

Bane pressed a button.

Expectantly, Chance looked up to see the ceiling cave in; thunderous echoes rocked the chamber. Rubble rained down into the sewers, splashing water everywhere. Artificial light poured from above, revealing the lower levels of Applied Sciences beneath Wayne Tower.

The bottom dropped out. Secret weapons in Lucius Fox's department fell from above. A tumbler in a desert camouflage landed atop a pile of rubble. Loose papers and bits of ash wafted down through the jagged gap in the ceiling.

"No…" Batman mumbled weakly.

"Your precious armory," Bane confirmed. "Gratefully accepted." He looked at the spoils. "We'll need it."

Chance looked up. She signaled for the men to move up to the next level. Barsad and his fellow soldiers moved efficiently through the ransacked division as alarms blared deafeningly in the building. They assembled bucket brigade to hand down stolen goods from the top level to the command center. Tumblers were hauled into the gap. Chance, occupied, looked away just in time to Batman struggling to his feet. Chance caught Bane's attention and gestured to the rising hero. Bane handed her the detonator.

"Ah, yes," said Bane, approaching the dizzy man. "I was wondering which would break first. Your spirit…"

Batman threw a punch. He didn't come close to making his target. Bane ruthlessly punched his jaw. He grabbed Batman and lifted him over his head. Chance's stomach did flips. She recalled this particular scene happening to her. Chance watched Batman squirm in Bane's strong hold arms, to no avail.

"Or your _body!"_

Savagely, Bane brought Batman down onto his knee, forcibly bending the Dark Knight's spine backward. A horrific _crack_ echoed throughout the lair.

Catwoman peeled away from the scene, terrified.

Chance gazed at the broken bat that tottered to the floor like a useless rag doll.

Bane crouched down to take Batman's mask from his blood face, revealing a painfully-swept Bruce Wayne. Bane rose to his feet and handed Chance the bloody cowl.

"Once, over the seventeen years that I've trained you," he said, "you specifically asked for Batman's mask." Then, he added, "Here's your trophy."

Chance took the black mask from him, in a state of shock.

"Bring him," he ordered her, striding from her.

"Where, Sir?" she asked, stunned.

"Where I spent my most miserable years, and where you thought that you spent your first three."

Chance nodded.

"I'll bring him to Hell," she concluded, nodding in understanding.


	22. Out of the Sun, Into the Shadows

Author's Note: _I have been waiting to write those two chapters for-damn-ever. Hope you enjoyed them. It's getting more intense! All right. Let the games begin._

The City in Pieces II

Chapter Twenty-Two: Out of the Sun, Into the Shadows

Bruce Wayne mumbled something painfully at Chance's feet. Chance glanced at the broken body of the unmasked caped crusader. His eyes weakly gazed up at her, half-way opened from the hurt and betrayal from Selina's act, no doubt, and from the literal agony purging his broken spine. Chance watched Bane ascend the walkway, climbing the chain to retreat to the command center, assisting his fellow soldiers pull up the fallen tumblers and pass on the cargo from Applied Sciences. The boy billionaire now bereft even of riches of the body, uttered gasps of agony. Chance lowered to him on her knees and slipped her hands underneath his head. His brown hair was matted to his chiseled jaw and sweat running down his face. He uttered a protest. _Don't move me._

"Sorry, love," said Chance, negated of any apology, "but orders are orders."

She looked up.

"Barsad."

Her third-in-command descended the ledges to appear by her side.

"Help me lift him."

Barsad obeyed.

By private jet, Chance boarded an unconscious Bruce Wayne to a lost city, many miles into the desert from Gotham City. Chance knew Bane's destination. Hell on Earth, where he had learned that not everything in life is received through wealth. Chance learned the same thing under his command. Now Bruce would learn it. Bane glanced at the heavy head in Chance's lap.

"Coddling a fallen hero?" Bane questioned her premise. Her hand was on Bruce's neck. Her other hand was in his hair. Chance met his eyes.

"He passed out from the pain, Bane," said Chance honestly. "This is where he happened to lay," she indicated her legs. "I imagine you're feeling the same that I do when you look at Talia the same way you look at me."

Bane didn't battle that argument. He understood her stand point. Chance glanced at the handsome face in her arms. She wondered if he would waken. After all, such agony could make anyone pass out. Bane had snapped his spine. Chance relived the moment. She had anticipated that Bane would keep Batman out of the picture in some way of his; though the back break never crossed her mind when she was brainstorming.

When they arrived at Hell on Earth, Chance tossed Bruce over her back, holding his arm over his shoulder, hauling him through screaming prisoners and maniacal laughter, sobs of despair, and darkness. Chance flinched as several men shrieked out of melancholy hopelessness. Bane continued in front of her, unmoved by the sadness around him.

_He spent his childhood here,_ Chance thought mournfully. _No wonder why he hates the rich. I'd hate them too._

Chance ignored the pleas behind bars. Bane pushed open a cage. Chance lowered the defeated hero onto a creaky bed, bereft of any perfect cushion; the springs pushed through the linens on the very frail mattress. Chance almost lost her balance as she set Bruce on the cot, slightly falling onto him. She stood straight in front of Bane, awkwardly striding around her lover to straighten Bruce on the bed. Chance felt her cheeks redden.

_Okay, so I'm attracted to Bruce. He's a playboy, he's a womanizer. A bachelor. Bad, bad type of man for you, Chance,_ she thought to herself.

"Take him out of his armor," said Bane. "Put him in these," he handed her rags.

"You want me to undress him?" said Chance, hoping that he'd clarify.

"I'm assuming that this will be quite a fast task to achieve, dear," Bane told her, still handing her the filthy rags. "Take him out of his armor," he repeated, "and put him in these."

Chance bit the inside of her bottom lip. She took them without another question.

"Yes, sir."

"Don't idle," he told her.

"Of course."

He hesitated, glancing from her to Bruce, but said nothing more. He turned his back and walked out of the cage. Chance turned to Batman reluctantly. She held the rags in her hands, staring at the man that had been pleading with her only two hours ago. She obviously couldn't deny that she felt split down the middle for Bruce. He was kind toward her, until he realized her true identity, unlike the stereotypical snob that everyone thought he was. He actually found interest in her during the party, though Chance wondered if it was because she had remained his mystery waltz.

Knowing that Bruce wasn't going to be able to dress himself, Chance gave in to a sigh of resignation. She set the clothes down on the bed. Chance leaned forward to pull away Bruce's body suit from his body. She tossed it aside. Chance stared at the bloody patched on Bruce's stomach and chest. Bruises flecked across his shoulders, arms, and along his sternum. Darker patches of hard bruising circled Bruce's hips where his spine had cracked. Chance stared at his wounds, slightly sympathetic, though fascinated that Bane did all of this to Bruce. Chance pulled his boots off his feet, rendering him barefoot. She took one of the rags, a dirty shirt, and slipped it over Bruce's strong arms and chest. Her cheeks flushed again, mildly from embarrassment and obvious temptation. Chance bit the inside of her left cheek as her fingers brushed against Bruce's abdomen as she pulled a pair of jeans on him. Chance sat on the edge of the mattress, waiting for him to regain consciousness. Her chin in her hands, Chance observed his sleeping face with regard.

"You're not a bad man, Bruce," said Chance aloud to his absent mind. "Just suffering from a misplaced sense of righteousness."

He stirred.

"What sort of…." Bruce panted slightly, "_Righteousness_ tries to kill a bunch of people?"

Chance looked at him intently.

"You're not like all the others," said Bruce weakly, remaining still on the bed. "You could be a good cop if you put your mind…to it."

"Officers are crooked, Bruce."

"So you think you're any better?" he challenged.

"I can't change who I am."

"Bane did," said Bruce immediately after she finished. His reproach made her look taken-aback. His eyes turned to her. "Chance, you don't belong with these people. Not Ace…Not Joker…Not _Bane…_"

Chance started to speak, but a voice forestalled her rebuttal,

"Actually," said Bane from the doorway; Chance looked up to see him, "she does."

Chance moved away from Bruce to stand against an open window into the cage. Bane passed her to sit down at the edge of Bruce's bed. His shift in weight, albeit heavier and more sever compared to Chance's light body, made the mattress spring, caused Bruce to move, and he reacted painfully. Bane leaned over him to observe his face.

Bruce concentrated on Bane's face.

"Why," he asked him, "didn't you just kill me?"

"You don't fear death," Bane answered. "You welcome it." He shook his head. "Your punishment needs to be more severe."

"Torture?" questioned Bruce.

"Yes, but not of your body. Of your soul," he clarified.

Chance watched from the side lines, arms crossed her chest. She didn't know whether to feel sympathy for Bruce, fallen, or to admire how calm Bane appeared compared to the way he was when he was brawling with Batman.

"Where am I?" asked Bruce.

"Home," Bane replied. "Where I learned the truth about despair. As will you."

Bane rose to his feet to peer out of the cell, standing beside Chance.

"There is a reason why that this prison is the worst hell on earth."

Chance glanced at him, and then looked out of the cage to gaze at the sunlight spilling through the hole above. Chance recollected that she had gotten this pit and the sewers mixed up in geography when she first trained. She had climbed out of the pit herself after being trained for straight five years underground. Bane gazed at the defiant sunlight.

"Hope," he said. "Every man who has rotted here over the centuries has looked up to the light and imagined climbing to freedom. So easy. So simple. And, like shipwrecked men turning to seawater from uncontrollable thirst, many have died trying.

"I learned here that there can be no true despair without hope." He looked from the light to gaze upon Bruce pitilessly.

"So as I terrorize Gotham," he continued, "I will feed its people hope to poison their souls. I will let them believe that they can survive, so that you can watch them clamor over each other to stay in the sun."

He gestured toward a television, run through the room by a cable, outside the bars.

"You could watch me torture an entire city to bring you pain that you thought you could never truly feel again. Then, when you have truly understood the depths of your failure, we will fulfill Ra's al Ghul's destiny. We will destroy Gotham. And when it is done…When Gotham is ashes…" He turned to Bruce intently,

"Then you have my permission to die."

Chance watched Bane rise to his feet. He turned to her.

"We have a board meeting that we have to catch. Follow."

Chance gave Bruce one more gaze. He met her eyes. She followed Bane out of the cell and locked it, pursuing him through the chamber and out of the hell that she and Bane knew all too well.


	23. Clearing the Air

Author's Note: _I've already decided to make a sequel to City in Pieces II, and I've decided who will live and who will die. With that, continue with this one at your leisure. Enjoy the chapter._

_Let the games begin_

The City in Pieces II

Chapter Twenty-Three: Clearing the Air

The clouds formulated in enormous clumps thickets in the sky, several feet above the ground; white tufts in a forest of the blue sky. Chance gazed out of the plane's port window, gazing out into the air. Bane sat across from her, observing her facial features in consideration and something more tepid. He wore a lukewarm expression on his face, half-hidden by his mask, though the narrowed eyes gave into inclination that obviously something was on his mind. Feeling his gaze burn through the right side of her face, Chance turned to look at him. For a moment, they said nothing, and then Bane inhaled deeply. He spoke calmly.

"I am not ignorant, Chance. I have studied your facial expressions extensively for the first few years that I trained you, and I know the look of regret when I see it."

Chance immediately declined that assumption.

"I'm not remorseful."

"No, not to me," said Bane specifically. "Obviously, in the past, Bruce has made several attempts to steer you into his line of criminality. Vigilantism," he clarified. "As anyone knows, taking the law into your own hands is a felony itself. Revenge is frowned upon everywhere. Vengeance and revenge are very much used interchangeably, but that doesn't mean that they represent each other."

He cleared his throat.

"I can sense your self-doubt, Lieutenant." Bane continued patiently. "The last time that I saw that look on your face, you took the life of Dr. Pavel's eldest son. Sympathy, empathy, compassion, understanding…I don't intend to hinder those qualities, Chance. You inhibit every one of them. Compassion is your weakness, as it is for Bruce. However, you must recognize the people that deserve your tolerance from the ones that use it to their advantage.

"Your face clearly implied to me, when I spoke to Bruce, that you underestimated what I could do to a man, despite what I've done to you in the past. Simply breaking a man's physical body is easy, Chance. Bruce's spirit is much stronger and greater. We break him down, we make him see just how wrong and how terrible his city really is."

Chance nodded dully.

"I know," she muttered.

"Since we are on the subject of Bruce," continued Bane, "I have a few questions that I want you to answer."

"The odds at hand are that you already know the answers," said Chance, turning to glimpse at the sky.

"Look at me."

Chance sighed. She turned her head to see him.

"I can tell that Bruce believes that you can make more worth of yourself by betraying me, Chance. I can tell that he wants to hope that one day; you'll come to your senses, and send me falling to my death rather than to take my hand and help me up. I don't anticipate living without an heir, Chance."

Chance gave him a stern look.

"He'd jail me at the first opportunity that presented itself," she admitted to him. "He's a good man, but I don't trust his wares."

Bane looked pleased to hear that.

"Why would he think that you could be 'helped', rather than Ace?" he asked.

"Ace is driven mad by the mere memory of Joker," answered Chance. "She can't be helped. Not by him, not by me. Joker has much need of her as she needs him. He wouldn't help me." Chance said. "He'd put me in a cell before I could even plead.

"If ever I get caught, I'd rather live under the ground in the dark in a coffin then spend the rest of my life behind bars in the light," confessed Chance.


	24. A Single Chance

Author's Note: _This is an Ace Chapter._

The City in Pieces II

Chapter Twenty-Four: A Single Chance

Black Gate Prison was a maximum-security penitentiary located on one of the smaller islands in Gotham Harbor. Now that the Dent Act had made it impossible for criminals to cop an insanity plea, it had replaced Arkham Asylum as the preferred location for imprisoning both convicted and suspected felons. As a result, the judge that presided over Ace's case had sent her straight to her selected cell with only spoken words to be her long sentence. The inmates of Arkham had been moved to a separate chamber attached to Black Gate. The high class criminals, such as Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, and Joker were contained in highly-secured, heavily guarded rooms, protected by the outside world.

Ace, much different compared to the other criminals—class or no class—was pushed into a padded cell with only the vividly white walls and floors to leave her comfort. She had no source of entertainment in solitary confinement. The television had been taken. Magazines were confiscated. Books were withdrawn. Ace's only company was the mirror of her reflection against the wall. For days, she would stare at herself in the mirror in amusement.

Ace had no visitors. The most of a human that Ace ever saw was a fleeting hand through the door, handing her a tray full of fried vegetables, a meat, some kind of bread, a melted ice cream covered tart that no longer held its appeal. The presence of a companion arrived in the voice of the bodyguard informing her of mealtimes, bed time, and morning.

Ace was given little attention by those outside her room. Although she was neglected for most of the time, Ace admitted it to herself that she rather enjoyed the quiet. The ringing in her ears would only happen after someone spoke to her. She wasn't given any time or opportunity to speak. Throughout the entire prison, Ace's reputation preceded her. Silver-tongued and adept in combat and acrobatics, Ace was the most dangerous woman to be contained in a building. Armed to the T in skills in lock-picking, breaking-and-entering, trespassing, and pick-pocketing, the locks on her doors were brass padlocks melted together on the door. The only way anyone could get in was by emergency-only protocol, which would be setting explosives outside the door and blowing up the door all together. Combination locks were child's play. Key locks only took a few hours. No matter how many chains were wrapped through the pull handles, Ace could remove them without a hair falling out of place. When Ace discovered that her locks were welded together by a blow torch, she was merely amused, perhaps touched, at the notion. It was likely that Gordon had informed the warden of her extensive skills, and made a uniformed decision.

Ace was treated with upmost caution and strict regulation. She was given nothing to her name that could be used as a weapon, not even paper clips. Ace was provided a toilet, a shower, tight bedding, and a loose cot. The sheets were taped, stapled, and permanently sealed to her mattress, preventing any hope of making any rope around her neck to give her a merciful way out. Her sink only poured lukewarm water: not hot enough to scald her eyes, in order for paramedics to free her, not cold enough to freeze; and it only poured out so much before it would quit all together. Not enough water to pour out so that Ace could drown herself in the sink. The shower was built the same way, though it was a stand in with no curtains or curtain line. The shower head nozzle was padded as well, too soft to bang it across Ace's head and knock her unconscious.

Ace's toilet contained purified water, too clean to infect her body with something dangerous, and she had no toilet seat or toilet lid to her commode to bash her skull with in case she wanted to stop it all together.

The society wanted Ace to spend the remaining of her life alive, feeling every waking moment of solitude.

Ace sprawled on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She waited for sleep to catch her again, the only way she remained calm and collected in an otherwise too-tranquil environment. Ace, developing a temporal section of the brain, had improved hearing in both her ears. It wasn't a surprise when she heard footsteps approach her door.

"Is that my kind warden out there where my yonder door window breaks?" asked Ace from her bed, still staring up at the white paint above her head.

"Mail, Leswaae," said the warden.

Officers in the security prison were ordered not to go eight feet in front of her room. The only way that Ace could see who was there was through a very small square window on her door, and even that was blurred and fogged so that she wouldn't be able to make out faces, in case she were to break out and search for her arresting officers, cruel visitors, or otherwise people she'd rather murder instead of going to the movies.

"Mail?" Ace drawled, looking up necessarily. An envelope slipped through the underside of the door. "Ooh," she purred, "do I have fan? Is it from you, warden?"

The warden said nothing back. Ace's words were as dangerous as her foreboded actions.

"I really do love your visits, _Sir,_" sighed Ace.

She threw her legs off the bed and approached the door lightly. She looked out the small window, smirking at the blurry image of a man who had too much facial hair.

"Perhaps you'll write me a love letter on Valentine's Day and spend the afternoon with me. You and I could have some _fun…_" she indicated malice.

"Shut up, Ace," said the Warden.

Chance watched his retreating back.

She smirked to herself. Ace picked up the envelope. It was too small to contain any contraband. The warden always scanned her mail for dangerous objects. Ace smelled the packaging. There was no abnormality to it whatsoever. No wonder why the warden had given it to her.

Ace opened the letter casually. She saw the addressee and smiled in good favor.

"Well, well, well," she said in her usual sardonic tone, "you've finally answered back."

Ace opened the letter all the way with delight.

It read as followed:

_My dear friend,_

_I have received every one of your letters for the past eight years, and I have read, not ten of them, but thirty of them before I turned to loss, and knew that these years would only bring me sadness at your apprehension. I know our friendship has been a difficult one, and I remember the better years of our partnership; although our worst moments appear more vivid to me than anything I've ever recalled. Ace, it's so bizarre now, to think that with all our careful planning in the past, we would end up separated again, but now it seems that our separation is neither by our wills._

_It is your fault that you were arrested. Arkham Asylum was blown to smithereens, which is why they moved Joker to Black Gate as well. I know that you hate incarceration, and you want the freedom that I have, but I know that it's not me that you envy._

Ace flipped the paper to read the back.

_The Dent Act has destroyed many lives, some deserving; others, not so much. We have always worked together in crime, Ace, and I know that although we've matched each other in crimes, and we both are felons, for me, it's always been to build myself to the top. My arrogance has led us both estranged over the years, and I blame myself for complicating our relationship that once was based on our personalities. _

_You told me a month back to write to you whenever your freedom was coming home. I assure you, friend that you will not be under the supervision of these corrupt beauracrats for much longer. _

_You should know, Ace, that in the past three days, we've taken steps to make Gotham understand that the city is only dying. I know that in the past, I've hidden quite a few things from you, but it was under the impression that these things were not important to you. As you said before, Ace, I should have known better. It's a lesson I'm learning still._

_I know that you won't easily give in to your warden's requests for you to remain silent. So it would be foolish for me to wish you luck and cheer, since you don't need my help in keeping such good spirits. _

_I'll be at your doorstep when your freedom bell rings. You'll know it has come when the police officers are looking up at you from the flat of their backs. _

_I'll see you soon._

_Chance_


	25. Fight in the Shade

The City in Pieces II

Chapter Twenty-Five: Fight in the Shade

The explosives beneath Wayne Towers, where Applied Sciences had been raided, had been Chance's own ratio between the concrete and oil masses, along with proper exposure to timed lights. Ignition on the fumes would cause the oil to ablaze, crack the concrete within, and throw heavy loads of solid rock in every way imaginable. Chance derived the combination from Ace herself. Chance, though, was starting to second-guess her ability to create explosives. Ace, after all, was knowledgeable in flammable compounds; she specialized in demolition and arson—the two fields practically screamed "Unabomber". Chance wouldn't belittle her own talents in criminality: she knew several strategic tactics, all derivatives from Bane's mind, but Chance had to learn these things. Ace was self-taught. Either that or she paid close attention to Joker's antics.

Chance's mind was contradicting the blast radius beneath the football stadium. Because the takeover of Gotham was beginning to near, she was looking through every outpost where bombs were placed. Although the Applied Science raid had been successful, it was exceptional. Chance was competent to throw down an entire floor from the floor to the sewers; she could imitate Ace's blow to Arkham's wall, even create enough TNT to put the bridges to the rivers. But Chance, gazing at the assets on the screen, surveying the placed home-made grenades, nagged herself at the prospect of a leering ominosity.

Bane approached her from behind. He wore a khaki utility harness with plenty of pockets, gray trousers, and combat boots. His hands at his sides and his eyes ahead, gazing at the floating computer screens in front of him, Chance could only guess that he knew what she was searching for, or perhaps already knew.

"You see the problem," assumed Bane in a steady voice, "don't you?"

Chance masticated the walls of her cheeks, biting into them with simmering annoyance. When Chance said nothing in reply, Bane moved to stand beside Chance in a pointed manner. He raised a hand to the screen, flicked the hovering photograph of the underside of the football stadium, zoomed in, and indicated for Chance to give that a good look. His mannerism expressed a sardonic overtone. Chance already knew what he was going to say.

"We've spent _months,_" said Bane, agitated, "placing these over Gotham's city limits." He didn't even look at her. Chance, though, could tell that he was waiting for her to look at him. "_Months,_ Chance." His voice deepened, "You know the problem at hand. Don't you?"

"Of course, I do," muttered Chance.

Bane wasn't pleased. He turned to her.

"Ace handed you the recipe to make these bombs. All of them, set in oil drums, placed delicately under bridges, along the coast, to make this operation pass with no room for error. Tell me, Chance, why is it that when I look at this schematic—Why does it seem that if I detonate these bombs under the stadium, that it won't even graze the field?"

"It will _graze_ the field, Sir," remarked Chance. "I've made the compounds myself. They're strong."

"Strong enough to ignite a floor of concrete at the bottom of Wayne Towers, not strong enough to detonate the yards of Gotham's stadium."

"I admit," said Chance, "that I see the error, Bane. My bombs aren't efficient enough."

"The blast radius is what counts, Chance. We need them to go off simultaneously." Bane said decisively.

"Then the soldiers will have to make more from my combination," said Chance, crossing her arms. "They're fast workers, Bane. More the merrier, right?"

"You're wrong." Bane told her affirmatively.

Chance stared at him.

"Why don't you tell me why?" said Chance, annoyed.

Bane turned her attention back to the computer screen. He flipped and flopped with the scale of an x-ray photo shot of from the level flat land of the football fields, barreling down through the dirt, the excavated dirt, rubble and histories of concrete, and finally ending up in the sewer gaps. Chance frowned. She turned to Bane.

"These explosions have to accommodate the many levels of blockage below, Chance," said Bane. "Your mixture of these bombs that you've placed beneath the city is inefficient, and your designated location for them is disorganized and wasteful. Replace them."

Chance's face hardened as he stared to walk away from her.

"With _what?_" she called after him.

He turned, looking at her.

"Better bombs. Fix your ratio, Lieutenant."

Chance's mouth fell agape. She marched up to Bane, incensed.

"I have revised my application to these mixtures over and over, _Sir,_" said Chance vehemently. "The ratio that I used before isn't competent or as perfectly distributed as the first batch made in history. Oil and concrete are abundant resources, Bane. We can stabilize the blasts with double the amount of oil drums we have right now."

"I told you, Chance," said Bane. "Abundance is not a matter. Your revisions on your bombs are unstable. Should they go off when I detonate them, they'll counter each other, and hardly anything will be done." He stepped toward her, making a point. "Destroy them. Make a new batch. Better, stronger. Do I make myself clear?"

"We don't have that kind of time, Bane," Chance argued, despite his close intimidation tactic. "The board meeting with Talia and Fox is in two hours. You and I have to be up in Wayne Towers before then and get control over the board. Bane, we don't have enough time to create a whole new plan."

"Then who does?" said Bane seriously.

Chance gave him a look.

"Sir?"

"Chance, who created your first batch of explosives?"

"Ace designed the formula herself, Bane," she volunteered as a toss-up. If only it would give Bane some idea of how much Chance was trying to do the deed. However, Chance was wondering why he asked her about the first batch in the first place. Ace was behind bars. There was no way that she could build a bomb while separated from the world.

"Ace made the ratio?" asked Bane considerately.

"Perfectly," admitted Chance. "Bane, we're not alchemists."

Bane considered the former. He nodded in understanding.

"She's the only one that can make these bombs clear and concise, Sir," said Chance.

Bane sighed.

"What are you considering?" asked Chance, though she likely knew his answer.

Bane clicked his tongue from behind his mask.

"If Ace is the expert," said Bane, "then we need her."

"She's locked away," Chance reminded him.

"We have no choice." Bane said, walking away. "Get her out."

Chance licked her bottom lip.

"You want the League to infiltrate Black Gate Prison?" she said incredulously.

He stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

"No." Bane said. "I want you to do it."

Chance stared at him.

He shrugged.

"I don't care how you do it, Chance. Just make sure that you do."

Ace sauntered from her bed to sit idly on the side of her sink. Her eyes were steadied on the melted locks on her door. She must have searched the entire room for something to combine in order to make a contained bomb, but the warden had done his homework. She could only weight the option of slamming herself hard enough into the door repeatedly before bruising and bleeding. If suicide was the issue of an emergency, the warden would purge the door. Half the city, if not everyone, wanted her alive rather than dead. They would stop an execution just to redo it over again.

Outside the prison, Chance acted quickly. Not desiring to cause uproar, Chance wandered the unguarded bare back of the prison. A fence stalled her usual way of entering a building. Barbed wire sustained an electrical fence around a backyard. Chance considered her options. Above in a watch tower, a sniper rested. Chance gazed at the watchman, only to notice that the so-called man of the hour on his protected duty was fast asleep at the helm. Chance wondered how much money he was earning to guard the back gate of the house of the most deadly criminals of Gotham's nightmares. She wondered what his pay-cut would be like once they fired him for irresponsibility.

Chance wore a bag over her shoulder, a common shoulder bag. She would appear to be a visitor if someone should spot her. She gazed at the sniper, considered something quietly, and then raised her fingers to her lips, uttering a shrieking whistle.

The sniper awoke furiously. He aimed his rifle at her. From his distance, he wouldn't notice her face as Chance Bremly.

"Who is there?" he cried out.

From his voice, Chance smirked, knowing the frightened tone of a rookie. _What luck._

"Oh, Sir!" Chance cried out from her position, "Sir! I wanted to see a friend of mine!"

"Enter at the front!" the sniper ordered.

"I would," said Chance with a blonde tone of a stupor, "but I got lost on my way here. Could you be a gentleman and let me through the gate?"

Apparently the sniper hadn't seen a pretty girl before, for he climbed down from his watch tower, unarmed, and crossed the large yard to stand in front of her between the barbed, electrical fence. He seemed too young to employed by the government. Chance observed his reaction when he came close enough to observe her face.

"You're that Chance, ain't you?" asked the rookie with a slight smirk.

"Oh, you caught me," said Chance with a smirk of her own.

"Black Gate's been wantin' you for a while now," he continued, simply standing there in front of her.

Chance cocked her head to the side.

"Well, aren't you sweet," she remarked. "You know, rookie, they'd give you a metal for bringing a woman like me in, though I can't see how that would happen with you being disarmed and all."

"Oh, I have a hidden pistol in my pocket," confessed the rookie casually.

Chance stared at him. He didn't seem to notice that he had told her that.

"Aren't you prepared," she complimented him. She examined the sparking fence with mocking surprise. "Ooh, looks like I wasn't expecting this place to be so protected. Won't it be hard to arrest me if you can't touch this?" she indicated a flashing line.

"Oh, you're goin' to let me arrest you?" asked the rookie incredulously. "You're sure dumb in reality, compared to what the rumors say."

Chance's smile flickered at his assumption. She forced a grin.

"Well," she shrugged, "you can't believe everything that people say, can you?"

The rookie nodded. He withdrew his pistol.

"You mind settin' your bag on the ground? I can't have you be armed when I take you in."

Chance smirked at him.

"Of course, sir…" she said, lowering her purse. "_Of course._"

Chance, with amusement, watched the rookie reach into his pocket. He pushed a button a remote. The hot fence relinquished its electric protection. He then opened the gate to the yard. Chance acted fast. She took his outstretched pistol from his hand, punched him in the gut, and clubbed his face with the handle of his gun. He fell to her feet mid-way through the gate's threshold. Chance searched his body and found grenades, handcuffs, ID cards, and car keys. Chance pulled his body out of the yard and hid him in a bush. Chance undressed him, taking everything but his boxers, and pocketed all the clothing into her large purse. Chance hid the pistol in her blouse, hiding the rest of the contraband in her purse.

Ace considered another option as well, continuing to watch the locks with concentration. Perhaps it would be more efficient if she started screaming while trying to choke herself. Ace bit the inside of her cheek. Now _that_ held some interesting amusement. Though if no one came, she'd get bored quickly.

_Whoever thought killing yourself could be so tedious,_ Ace thought, a bored expression on her face. She glanced at her reflection. _I'm so…bored…_

"Wonder what all the other cool people are doing tonight," Ace muttered to herself.

She wasn't even surprised to hear footsteps in front of her door. She could recognize the Warden's shadow of his feet beneath the crease of the door any day. Ace wondered what good news he had brought her this time. She was slightly interested, though, when he spoke in slight panic,

"What have you been writing all these days, Ace?"

Ace considered him for a moment, but remained silent.

"Ace, answer me!" the warden demanded.

Too intrigued, Ace tattered with him a bit.

"What's wrong?"

"Something is going on outside. Who have you been writing to?"

Ace's right eyebrow inclined.

_Was her friend honest when she wrote back?_

"I have powerful friends in low places, Warden," said Ace honestly. "I write tons of letters every year. Why so curious now?" Ace approached the door. "Perhaps you want a love letter from me, Warden?"

"I have two officers missing in action," said the Warden, his voice growing more worried. "This isn't possible! Who have you been communicating with? No one breaks out of Black Gate! Ace, you will never leave this place! You're stuck here! Forever until you die!"

Ace's face reddened at his proclamation.

Her silence goaded him further.

"You will never see the light of day again!" he continued.

Ace opened her mouth to retort, however, a voice sounded that wasn't her own. Ace recognized it as Chance's low drawl.

"The light of day is only blinding to those who have always traveled in the shadows."

The warden cried out in dismay. Ace rustled against the door to stare out the small window. A blurry image of a woman appeared before her.

Outside the door, Chance aimed the loaded pistol at the Warden, who was staring at her in complete horror. He was pressed against the wall by his own fear, gazing into the irritated blue eyes that belonged to Ace's best mate.

"You will sit there," ordered Chance, "while I finally free her. If you move," she said; she cocked the hammer of the gun, "I'll shoot."

The Warden held his hands up in front of his face.

Chance reached into her bag, holding the grenades in her hand. She glanced behind her. There were no officers coming after her, but it would only be minutes until the entire building would know that someone slipped past the back fence security. Chance pulled the Warden by the nape of his robes, setting him away from the door to spare his life. Chance stepped toward the window.

"Ace, can you hear me?" she said in bold voice.

"You have some timing," Ace retorted from the white door.

"I have three hand grenades, Ace." Chance informed her.

"I've already moved into the shower." Ace said knowingly.

"I'm throwing them in three seconds," said Chance mildly.

Raised voices came from the hallways. The warden turned to scream into the empty corridor,

"I'm here, men! Come save me! I'm here! Intruder!"

Chance kicked him in the face, and he recoiled.

"You silence yourself, or I'll do it for you." Chance demanded.

From behind her, the officers came with machine guns. Before they could shoot, Chance hurtled back, and then she threw the grenades at Ace's imprisoned hell. They ignited furious blasts, throwing the locks and chains off the hinges. The door itself was destroyed to disfigured clumps of iron. Chance had taken refuge behind the Warden as a body shield. His use was valid. The explosion killed him, but she was safe. As she rose to her feet, Chance gazed at the fallen officers on the floor. They were wounded. Chance turned to the cell where a smirking Ace stood in the door way, dressed in orange.

Ace handed Chance the written letter.

"You've got some nerve, girl," Ace complimented her. "First Arkham, now this. You've got a record."

Chance ruffled through her purse and offered Ace the stolen clothing from the sniper.

"A change of dress is in order," said Chance.

"Oh, you shouldn't have," said Ace sarcastically. "Black _is_ my color."

Ace turned to observe the warden's dead body.

"Aw," she lamented. "I hoped to kill him myself…"

Chance handed Ace the loaded pistol. She indicated the sea of wounded men on the floor. They gazed up at the two women in defeated terror, staring up at Ace in specific.

"Perhaps," said Chance, "since I robbed you of the warden, you might accept my apology with the lives of these poor sods…?"

Ace smirked at Chance.

"Ahh, I can't stay mad at you."

Ace turned to the men then pulled the trigger.


	26. Too Many Plots

Author's Note: _Ace is back in the game! _

_Let the games begin._

The City in Pieces II

Chapter Twenty-Six: Too Many Plots

Ace hunted down the abandoned sniper's car in a parking garage as the alarm at Black Gate was sounded over the PA system, screaming that Ace Leswaae had escaped with an intruder. The shrieking sirens pulsed several red lights to circle the area in angry patterns; metal bars shot out from the ground to enclose around the harmless electrical fences—A flood of security guards flew out from every side of the federal building. Chance and Ace hurdled their bodies into parking garage quickly. Chance shoved Bane's dagger into Ace's grip; the natural locksmith took the handle and shoved the tip of the blade into the driver's door of an old 1992 Ford Escort. Ace jammed the lock wordlessly. She threw open the door; Chance crawled over the stick shift and settled into the floor of the passenger side; Ace entered the car, sliding into the back seat, closing the passenger door vigorously.

As anticipated, a flood of armed officers swept through the garage, searching under the bodies of cars, through the tops of them; even peering through the windows of nearby vehicles. Ace and Chance hid quietly, silent as the grave.

"Hunt them down!" cried out the commander only a few feet away. "They killed the Warden!"

"Sir, they're nowhere in sight! That Ace was never contained, Sir—just stationed in the right place!"

"Shut up, man," said a fellow officer, probably his friend. "We need to get to them before they find other people that Ace doesn't like."

Their commander sounded derisive when he replied,

"You want to know of list of people that Ace doesn't like? Open a phonebook."

"Well, we can't just wait here. They're probably clear across the other side of town by now!"

"Let's move it, men!" the commander shrieked in the garage, echoing loudly.

Chance listened intently as their heavy footsteps started to fade away.

"They're gone." Ace told Chance.

"We can't be sure. I know how these people work, Ace."

"Well, I'm no military genius," retorted Ace sardonically, "but I think I know an empty room when I see it."

Chance quirked her head. She crawled out from under the dashboard to see Ace peering at her from the driver's window. Ace was out of the Ford Escort, leaning in with her arms folded on the dash.

"Ace, what are you thinking?" said Chance incredulously. "You're in the middle of cross-fire if they come back!"

"Oh, lay down, Chance. They're not coming back," sighed Ace. She opened the door to get back in the driver's seat. Chance sat straight beside her, glancing through the windshield to check the visage. Chance searched her purse for the sniper's keys. She observed the selected few. Ace gave her a look.

"Hey," she suggested, "instead of trying to decide which one can start the car, why don't I just try them all out?"

Chance shot an annoyed stare her way before handing Ace a selected bronze key.

"This one's for the ignition," she said.

Ace took it and stuck it in the hole, turning it. Chance was right. The Ford started noisily. Chance leaned back in her passenger seat, sighing, as she observed the dimly lit area. Ace breathed in the polluted air, happy to be back in the state of true Gotham.

"So, besides fulfilling a written promise, Chance," Ace began, setting her hand on the wheel, "why on earth did you risk death to break me out of jail?"

Chance handed Ace a few papers. Ace surveyed them quickly before speaking.

"What's all this?" she inquired.

"I need you to replace my bombs with yours?"

Ace glanced at the schematics.

"I understand under the stadium; your reservoir is quite shameful. You fucked up my bomb. But why through these tunnels? Through here?" Ace drew a finger through the lines of leading tunnels.

"When the football stadium is blown to hell, the concrete that will cave in will black these tunnels." Chance said quickly. "We need stronger similarities around the edges to permanently explode the middle section of the stadium, or else nothing will happen. That's why I needed you out of there, Ace. You're the only one who knows how to make these explosives because you were the one who created the formula."

Ace gave her an appreciative smile.

"Well, Chance, I'm good at doing this, but the time it takes to make these bombs won't accommodate for the time that you need." Ace said. "How much time are we given exactly?"

"Two hours." Chance answered.

"Two hours? Oh," Ace sighed with a simple wave of her hand. "That's easy. I can whip some of these up in about half an hour. Do you have all the supplies there at hand already? It'll take more time to gather them."

"What you need, we already have," answered Chance dutifully.

"Oh, excellent," Ace congratulated her. "You freed me because you needed this done?"

"Actually, I intended to break you out of jail when Bane would blow the prison to hell, but it's so happens that my skill in alchemy isn't the best in the world. Bane ordered me to get you out."

Ace raised her eyebrows, apparently shocked.

"Well," sighed Ace, turning the gears, "perhaps we should get going, then."

As Ace peeled down the road, she questioned further,

"Why do we have two hours? What's happening in two hours?"

Chance looked out the window momentarily.

"Well, you know that bomb I told you about that you found out that's going to blow Gotham to hell?"

"Of course," said Ace passively.

"Okay. Well, it's located under a flood system, in Gotham's sewers beside the river and a junkyard. Wayne Enterprises was intending to use it to make Gotham a better place to live; a doctor created the entire thing for that specific purpose. Well, taking the reactor core from the middle of the machine destabilizes it. After about six months, it becomes a time bomb."

Ace listened quietly, nodding slightly in understanding.

"I know the exact location of the bomb, but we have to be led down there by Miranda Tate and Lucius Fox: the president and the chairman. We need one other member to activate the core. Once it's activated, it actually starts working."

"So it's docile," assumed Ace, threading through Chance's explanation.

"Yes," said Chance.

"So you want me to make the bombs under the stadium so that you can carry me to this meeting about a separate, much stronger bomb?" clarified Ace.

"Yes," said Chance, smiling.

Ace shrugged,

"Whatever. You just tell me what I need to do." Ace shook her head. "I don't like working with Bane, Chance. He's too difficult. Political stances, planning, and even _board meetings_? It's quite ironic too, I _am_ bored."

"Just get us to the sewers, Ace." Chance sighed.

Ace smirked,

"See, see? I like that plan. Sweet, easy to remember…"


	27. Power of the Sun

The City in Pieces II

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Power of the Sun

Chance handed the orders to the mercenaries to get Ace to the destined locations of the bombs. When the mercenaries learned that Chance had left Black Gate unscathed, a wave of relief swept across their faces. None of them fell when Chance requested that they help Ace set her mixtures of the bombs in the appropriate places. In order to set aside her batch of them, Chance simply informed Barsad to use them as a threat to the impending hostages of Gotham to make a point.

An hour and half swept by. Chance saddled herself in military fatigues and boots, scouring the street to find her way through Wayne Towers. The building was quiet as the dead. Through the offices and hallways, she didn't meet anyone, though she had an idea where they were being held. Chance flew up a flight of stairs. The top floor was the conference room; Bane had informed her that the meeting would be held there.

Chance entered with little delay. A smile flickered her face as she observed the situation.

The board members sat around the conference table, trembling. Armed intruders held them captive at gunpoint, while Bane occupied the head of the table. That answered the dead atmosphere on the floors below. Chance gazed at him momentarily. The board members glanced in her direction swiftly, noting to themselves of who this masked man associated himself with these days. No doubt that they already recognized his face from the newspapers after the Stock Exchange. Chance crossed the room leisurely. She appeared by Bane's side.

"Successful?" he asked her vaguely.

"Yes," she answered with a smile.

"Is she in place?"

"Yes, as we speak," said Chance notably.

She spoke next in German, avoiding their conversation to be heard by undesirables,

"_Where's the president?"_ she asked, referring to Miranda Tate.

"_I informed her an hour ago. She'll be here,"_ answered Bane, following her suit. He glanced at her.

"_They know that Ace is gone. The police will surely have caught wind of it by now. And they know that I was with her," _Chance informed her accordingly.

"_At this time, Ace's absence will work in our favor._"

Chance reverted back to the native language,

"But surely, you're expecting something not to go to plan?"

Before Bane could reply, Miranda Tate and a dark-skinned Lucius Fox entered the room. They halted in their wake, staring at the board members and Bane's men. Miranda met Chance's eyes immediately. She'd play along. Lucius Fox, however, was surprised to see Chance. Looks like he already knew the culprit behind the Applied Sciences raid. After all, Fox was the department manager.

"This meeting," said Bane, "has been called to order."

Chance smiled as Fox stepped in front of Miranda protectively.

"Chair and president," Bane addressed them both. He turned to the conference table, taking each face in turn. "I also need one ordinary member. Mr. Fox, would you care to nominate?"

Bane's mockery of business protocol left Fox speechless and confused. However, it was Douglas Fredericks, who spoke first,

"No," he said, rising to his feet, "I volunteer."

"Good man," stated Chance with a natural drawl.

Fredericks glanced at her. He was trying to decipher between a mocked comment and a true observation of her word. He couldn't decide. Chance approached Fox with slight curiosity. Bane's eyes followed her.

"How did you like our little splash into your puddle, Mr. Fox?" asked Chance delightfully. She stood at his height. His dark eyes embraced hers with dislike. "You know my face. I definitely know yours." A smile passed her lips. "You're quite the engineer…aren't you?" Her mind raced with images of Batman's toys and equipment, knowing fully well that they were products from Fox's making.

"Where," asked Fox cautiously, "are you taking us?"

From behind Chance's back, Bane answered,

"Where you buried your resources. The bowels of Gotham."

From below, Ace scavenged the tunnels hurriedly, placing made explosives along the beams of the ceiling. The mercenaries followed her lead behind her. Ace was agile in her stride. She wasted little time. Ace made her way under Gotham like a burrower: steady, timed, and unnoticed. When she followed the papers in her hand, noticing that she was right under Gotham Stadium, Ace looked up slowly to see several beeping charges overhead. A quick examination gave her knowledge that Bane's assumption of Chance's ill-revised ration was actually very accurate. These simply wouldn't do. Ace turned to Chance's minions.

"Take them down," she told them. "Put these up," she tossed several of them a bag of tiny hand-grenade look-alikes. One of Chance's men looked at Ace with annoyance.

"The Lieutenant's bombs were much bigger," he commented.

Ace gave him an evil grin.

"Traveling light doesn't mean that you're vulnerable. Just do as I ask," sighed Ace. "We have to get this done."

One of the mercenaries turned on a hand-held radio. Ace glanced at him when his eyes widened, though he was smiling.

"What's up with you?" she asked rudely, beckoning him to approach her.

"It's a news radio, Ace," explained the man. "It looks like our friends above managed to kidnap the board members. Apparently the police know now." He gave Ace a look. "Looks like Gordon's in charge right now."

"Hm," sighed Ace with a shrug, "that man never dies."

"We should keep going at this rate, we'll have it done in thirty minutes," advised the mercenary.

Ace shook her head.

"No, Gordon's losing patience. He'll send his men on an all-out search. No more hide and seek. No more patrols." Ace turned to the mercenary, who was staring at her. "Listen," she said, "I know more about this commissioner than you do. I'm made in this city. For all I know, you're an illegal immigrant."

Ace looked up to the ceiling.

"You guys get your asses across the ceiling and set those bombs. The police will be down here in about an hour."

The mercenary stared at Ace in revulsion.

"You think you know what you're doing, don't you?" he remarked to her in obvious dislike.

"Think?" questioned Ace. "You may have forgotten that your boss is one of my old friends. Now move your ass, boy. We've got work to do."

Bane led Fox and Miranda from Wayne Tower to the giant hole in the floor of Applied Sciences. Making their way through debris into a well-laid out maze of tunnels. The dismal catacombs below inhibited the rest of Bane's mercenaries that weren't uprooted in the Tower. They carried mini-mines the size of jacks, exploding the blockages; several hung from steel grapples. The tumbles lay amass the rabble.

They came at last to a large, damp tunnel lit by flickering fluorescent lights. This had been newly excavated in the last few days. Bane's men planted explosive charges on a freshly hewn wall at the far end of the tunnel. Debris flew away as they detonated it. Through the wall, Chance knew that they were by the river and the junkyard, where the reactor was located. She also could tell this because Dr. Pavel was pacing nervously to and fro; he only stopped when he realized that Chance and Bane were standing there watching him.

Ace put away the last set of bombs.

"Let's go," she told them bossily.

The mercenaries didn't argue with her. The impending flood of cops that were going to swarming the tunnels beckoned them to get out as soon as possible. Despite never have been underground, Ace somehow derived how to get out of the tunnels with ease, navigating through the complicated maze. They came out from the other side of a broken down wall. With some surprise, Ace halted immediately, staring at a large machine in front of her. The mercenaries said nothing as they passed by her. One took her hand to lead her into the large space. Ace recognized the faces in the room as Bane and Chance entered the reactor chamber. The familiar face of Bane gave Ace chills down her back; however, she was happy to see Chance.

Chance mimed for Ace to come to her.

"Is this it?" asked Ace, inquiring her head to the large mass effect gears and lights flashing. Ace's knowledge of machinery wasn't quite extensive, but she had an idea that such a thing as large as this being underground was probably the nuclear weapon that Chance mentioned beforehand.

"Yes," said Chance briefly.

Ace uttered an impressed note, but turned to Chance, ignoring the presence of Fox and Miranda Tate.

"Chance, Gordon's initiated that every cop will go down into the sewers."

Chance stared at Ace.

"It'll create a panic," said Chance lightly.

Ace pondered that statement briefly before replying,

"Well, Gordon's no dumb-ass. He'll have a plan…"

"Or some hothead will be laying down some suggestion," said Chance quickly.

"Training exercise…?" suggested Ace.

Chance shrugged. She motioned for Ace to become silent when Bane shoved Fox toward the control panel.

"Turn it on," he ordered.

Ace muttered under breath,

"He may be political, but he gets to the point, doesn't he?"

"Shh," whispered Chance, though she smiled at her comment.

Fox shook his head quietly. He gazed at the electronic device. He and Miranda both knew that if he scanned his palm on the panel, it awaken a dormant bomb.

"No…" Fox muttered.

Miranda stood by him. She was playing her part well. She looked afraid.

Bane sighed in simmering annoyance; Chance stepped forward and held Fredericks to his knees. She took a gun out and held the barrel to his head threateningly. Bane turned to Fox in result.

"I only need one member, Fox. There are twelve other board members up there. Should I have my men fetch another?"

Fox refused.

"I won't do it."

Chance glanced at Bane, who gave her a careless look. Chance cocked her weapon. The still hammer clicked dangerously. Miranda Tate approached bane, hurrying forward.

"All right. Stop."

Ace watched Miranda place her hand on the biometric scanner. It beeped, confirming her identity. Miranda turned to Fox, who looked appalled.

"Lucius, you'll kill this man and yourself and barely slow them down," she reasoned with him.

Eight years of working with Miranda must have convinced Fox, for he approached the scanner as well. He set his hand on the control panel. _Beep._ Chance withdrew her gun from Fredericks' head and pushed the elderly man forward. The older man also set his hand on the scanner. _Beep._

Ace approached Chance mildly.

"Why not take their hands and force them anyway?" she asked in Chance's ear.

"It's all part of the humiliation process." Chance told her. "Sort of like your little antics."

Ace scoffed,

"Please, I'm not that patient."

The reactor core activated, which began to glow brighter and brighter as a fusion reaction ignited within the suspended metal sphere, generating vast amounts of energy. Gauges on the core recorded the steady increase in power production. Instead of petering out in a few minutes, it grew with intensity, becoming alive inside—an atomic nucleus became a form of high energy.

Ace watched in fascination. She could compare the amount of energy in the machine to the amount of energy that powered the sun. And the atomic bomb that destroyed Hiroshima.

Bane turned to the scientist.

"Do your work," he said.

Bane glanced at Fox and Miranda and then turned to his men,

"Take them to the surface. People of their status need to experience the next era of western civilization."


	28. Tick Tock

The City in Pieces II

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Tick Tock

Gotham Stadium was home to the big game between Gotham Rogues and the Rapid City Monuments. The new $300 million arena was the jewel of Mayor Garcia's urban renewal program, built on top of a formerly blighted stretch of riverfront property. The huge open-air venue was built of stone, steel, and glass—

_All materials,_ thought Chance mindfully, _that can shatter upon a very dense blast of energy._

Her reverie was broken when Ace hurried toward her with the hand-held radio, turning up the volume. The mayor was speaking on the other line to paparazzi.

"A training exercise," he said, "is what's going on—thousands of police heading in the sewers are merely performing a training exercise. Nothing to worry about."

"Said the spider to the fly," Ace remarked.

She plucked down at the radio antennae and passed the little hand-held into Chance's palm. Ace didn't like the mayor. It was obvious in her face. It was more obvious when she said,

"I hope he's one of the unlucky ones that get caught in the explosion."

Chance gave her a considerate smile, hooking the radio on her belt.

"Then it'll please you to know," said Chance, "that there is a bomb in the private box."

It apparently did brighten her day, for Ace grinned in mischievous delight.

Chance left Ace with that private notion, and then approached Bane. He was seated on a stone that looked like a carved bench. He was thinking. Chance passed a hand along his shoulder.

"What's rattling _your _cage, hm?" she asked him gently.

"Listening to the scanner," said Bane, indicating the device sleeping on Chance's belt loop. Chance shrugged carelessly.

"They'd be searching the underground tunnels without success, Sir," she dismissed lightly. "They haven't ever been down through the sewers, except for the few feet to search for alligators." She smiled at Bane, who looked at her at the vague mention of Killer Croc. "They'll be following city prints, Bane," continued Chance in a reassuring tone. "We've changed quite a few things around here since they've printed them out."

Bane gave her a concentrated look.

"Ace seemed to find the locations quite easily…" he reminded.

"Ace is intelligent, Bane. These cops aren't," retorted Chance as if this was solely based on fact. For all she knew, it was. Ace appeared by Chance, glancing uneasily at Bane.

"Seems quite level down here," she mentioned, "what, with the absence of bombs and gunfire…Quite boring someone to ask me."

Chance was about to speak until Dr. Pavel approached from Ace's right-hand side, saying dolefully,

"It is done."

He stood but a few inches below Ace.

Pavel indicated the reactor core.

"This is now a four megaton nuclear bomb."

"I was wrong," said Ace, impressed. "This is two-hundred times more powerful than the atomic bomb that destroyed Hiroshima and Nagasaki…Wow…" Ace admired the bomb with fascination. Chance regarded the machine with some interest, glancing at Bane. He nodded in approval. Pavel relaxed.

"Pull the core out of the reactor."

Pavel immediately tensed, approaching Bane, draining of all color,

"But you can't!" he blurted out. Chance stopped him from coming any closer. "This is the only power source capable of sustaining it. If you move it, the core will decay in a matter of months—"

"Five," replied Bane calmly, "by my calculations.

"And then it will go off!" Pavel cried out, trying to explain the desperate measures that would result.

As the men began to disconnect the core, Chance watched Bane rise to his feet, sighing,

"For the sake of your family, Dr. Pavel, I hope so."

_What's left of it,_ thought Chance to herself.

Chance turned behind her to grab the nervous Pavel by the nape of his dirty collar. Resignation crossed the old doctor's face as he realized what he had done. His hands fell to his sides, agreeing to being pushed through the tunnel by Bane's right hand woman. Chance followed Bane.

The boiler room was in a sub-basement of the stadium, far below the cheering crowds. With all eyes on the field, no one was watching as Bane's men broke the basement floor. Drills and explosive charges, created at the hands of Ace Leswaae, had carved out a path from the tunnels below. The mercenaries climbed up into the stadium.

Bane emerged from the underground. He gestured for Chance to bring the doctor alongside him. Chance held the passive man by his hands, forcing his arms behind his back, but the doctor didn't fight. He merely gazed up into the face of Chance, pleading eyes. Ace emerged from the darkness as well, holding the radio in her hand. From the receiver, her eyes glanced to it as an officer's voice that she didn't recognize screamed,

"_It's a trap!_"

Chance, like a deer in an open field, jerked her head to the panicked voice on the radio. She heard that one before, though it had been fleeting. John Blake.

"Pull everyone out! _Bane's men been pouring concrete laced with explosives—"_

Ace gave an amused chortle,

"What d'you know, Chance." She met the Lieutenant's eyes. "They figured it out."

"Two months, too late," Chance retorted.

The National Anthem could be heard wafting down from above. Thousands of sports fan, stranded at the attention, paid silence to the great country. No doubt the mayor had his hand over his heart. The sound of a beautiful vibrato emitted from the tenor of a small boy at the microphone on the pitcher's mound. Bane reached into his pocket to withdraw one of the ten detonators that he had distributed among his followers.

"What a lovely, lovely voice," he commented softly.

Chance withdrew a detonator from her marine trousers. Ace reached across her belt to withdraw a clipped detonator. From behind Ace, several men withdrew their own detonators. Chance continued to hold Pavel by his arms, he kneeled.

The mercenaries advanced to the empty locker room tunnels. Bane cocked his head to the sound of the kickoff, like a hunting dog catching the scent in the wind. He glanced at Chance, then said in finality,

"Let the games begin."

The holders hit the detonators.

The mayor's box exploded, raining blood and debris onto the field. The cheers turned into screams from the football stadium. People panicked and leapt from their seats. Smoke blew over the field. The grassy field dropped into the earth, swallowing the players. Rogues and Monuments alike tumbled into the smoking chasm that seemed to be chasing each receiver as they tried to pelt away. An earth-shaking rumble competed with the shrieks of more than sixty-thousand spectators, many of whom were already stampeding toward the exits. However, Bane's men had plotted around the gateways, forcing all the attendants to get back. Ace's face was priceless, staring at the scene before her in hardly mistaken astonishment.

She had to admit it: Bane could give her a run for her money.

The concrete smashed every tunnel that any cop could escape through; trapping them inside with no way out, buried alive. Chance withdrew her hand-held to see a satellite image of Gotham.

The streets erupted in clamoring panic as well. Chunks of asphalt flew through the air. Thick black smoke billowed from below. Manhole covers shout upward. Water gushed from broken fire hydrants. Street lamps toppled over, crashing onto the streets and sidewalks.

Snapped electrical wires sparked and hissed; pedestrians ran in terror. Horns honked frantically, brake squealed, sirens blared, and vehicles collided.

From above, the Granton Bridge collapsed, sending all but one bridge into the rivers. Cars spilled off the side, sending the drivers' cars full of children, pets, women, and children to their watery graves. Massive telephone poles and towers, deck, and cables crashed into the river in a controlled demolition.

Chance's grip on Pavel's hands loosened dramatically, staring at the creation of mass panic before her. She had seen quite a few things in her day, some things that would make the hair on Batman's neck stand on end. But this…was something quite different.

So permanent.

The once-green football field was now a smoking wasteland except for one narrow strip of turf that had survived the disaster, though this wasn't by accident. Dead bodies littered the remaining land.

Bane's men poured out of the locker room tunnel and onto the ruined field, forming a protective gauntlet for his entrance. More soldiers were posted at all exits. Chance stayed back in the shadows, holding Pavel. Ace steadied as the crowd reacted when Bane strode into view: everywhere, the crowd sobbed and shouted at no sign of escape. Television cameras swung in his direction, filming live on every channel of the world.

A dead umpire, killed by a chuck of flying debris from the mayor's box, lay sprawled upon the turf. The man's headset appeared to have survived and Bane plucked it from the remains. The panicked crowd grew hushed as Bane took command. He held out his arm for silence and raised the microphone to the mouthpiece of his mask.

"Gotham!" he shouted. "Take control of your city. This is the instrument"—he beckoned to Chance—"of your liberation."

Chance and Ace stepped into the light. Chance glanced at the large screen over the scoreboard. At first, footage was on Bane's face, but now the large picture showed the faces of her and Ace. More screams came from the crowd. Chance didn't know if the majority was for the fact that she was confirmed to be alive, or that Ace wasn't where she was supposed to be until she died. Chance took hold of Pavel and dragged him onto the field, thrusting him on his knees before Bane.

Bane held the microphone to the nuclear physicist's mouth.

"Identify yourself to the world."

"Dr. Leonid Pavel," he answered. "Nuclear Physicist…"

Behind Chance and Ace, Bane's men pulled out the nuclear bomb on wheels, showing the world what it was.

"Tell the world what this is." Bane instructed.

"A fully primed neutron bomb. With a blast radius of six miles."

Bane nodded.

"And who can disarm this device?"

"Only me."

"Thank you, doctor."

With the entire world watching, Bane effortlessly snapped the scientist's neck. Chance jumped slightly; Ace stared, practically enthralled at such casualty ratings. The audience didn't take it so well. Screams erupted from the bleachers.

"The bomb is armed," Bane said, ignoring the screams. "The bomb is mobile; the identity of the triggerman is a mystery. One of _you_ holds the detonator. We come not as conquerors, but as liberators to return control of this city to the people, so we give it to you. At the first sign of interference from the outside world, or if anybody attempts to flee, this anonymous Gothamites—this unsung hero—will trigger the bomb.

"For now, martial law is in effect. Return to your homes. Hold your families close, and wait." He threw out his arms. "Tomorrow you will claim what is rightfully yours."

Bane turned and left the field. Chance and Ace left Pavel's remaining body of the field. His men rolled the bomb off the field.

No one spoke.


	29. Conquer All

City in Pieces II

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Conquer All

Because the entire police force was beneath Gotham, buried under rubble, though they were very much alive, the need to stay hidden was moot at this point. So, under Bane's free will, Ace led Chance out of the shadows and led her into the restaurant that she had been forfeiting for years. It had been renamed under several titles, once owned by a member of the League of Shadows; once house-sat by Daggett; once bought over foreclosure by Maroni; and another time ransacked as a hole for criminals. Ace brought Chance to the same restaurant that she had taken from a deceased man named Ron Burgundy. Now it belonged to Chance once more.

Ace handed Chance the plague to the diner. Several names were etched onto it from the changes over the years. Ace, with a slink of the waist, slipped over the counter of the battered down kitchen and retrieved a bottle of wine from the bottom cupboard. Chance observed the ruined plaque that had once read the words of Burgundy's finest, and since the markings on it practically mauled it, the read-out was difficult.

"Not much is left of this place after Joker was arrested and I was put in prison," said Ace, speaking of the incident with little compassion. She drank heavily from the bottle. Chance gazed at her friend with slight wonder, looking up from the melted piece of metal in her hands. "After you left, after Joker was put in Arkham, and when I was put away," she continued, "those who followed the three of us went a little mad and started peeling away at this place."

"Why attack one of the places that I own?" asked Chance gently.

The restaurant was almost rubble from the its many occupants. The décor was mix-match from her elegant architecture to Maroni's place of business. Ashes from cigarette buds and shattered bar bottles littered the floors; chairs of each culture were broken and beaten, and even the counter suffered its torment.

"They believed that since Batman was gone, we were too," said Ace, glancing into the bottle of whatever she was drinking. "I was tired of trying to protect your little home here, despite how many memories are encased in this. I suppose it's got some sentimental value," sighed Ace. "You may have been here in Gotham for eight years, Chance. But only you knew that, and Bane."

Chance observed her face. Ace's features paled in the shadow of a swinging light bulb. Her eyes were lowered into the bottle of alcohol. It was like she was hoping to simply fall through the neck, maybe drown in there.

Chance approached her.

"I know what bothers you," said Chance lightly, leaning over the top of the counter.

"It's that obvious, isn't it?" said Ace glumly.

Chance nodded.

"Well, it's no use wishing, is it? After all, you guys are after people like us."

Chance gave Ace a confused look.

"What?"

"You only freed me because you needed my help, Chance." Ace said.

"What?" repeated Chance.

Ace smiled at her.

"Why do you so confused?"

"Because I am," said Chance lightly. "Ace, the League of Shadows avenges those who cannot do it themselves. Those who join are those who want to make it so when they are the strongest. We seek justice, and Gotham is rotting with lawlessness. I freed you because you were imprisoned under a policy that is wrapped around a lie, which is lawlessness."

Ace looked at Chance hopefully. Chance continued,

"You deserve death penalties, Ace," she admitted. "Your crimes warrant more than that, but you were not given a fair trial. You weren't judged before your peers. You had no chance of winning. The judge put you away with no consideration on your part." Chance reached into the pocket of Marine trousers to withdraw a written speech. Gordon's speech. "And, you're not the only one."

Ace glanced at the papers, though she didn't look interested.

"Some contracts or something?" questioned Ace, pouring the bottle of alcohol into a glass.

"No," Chance declined. "The Commissioner's confession."

"About what happened with Harvey Dent and Gordon's boy?" said Ace lightly.

"Yes," said Chance.

"He's confessed?" said Ace with a raised eyebrow, doubtful.

"No. But the world will know."

Ace smiled.

"You are starting to sound like your masked fellow," said Ace, indicating her with the cup in her hand. She pointed at her with a raised finger. "You already have his accen_t_"—Ace laid the pronunciation hard on the T—"It's cute."

Chance shook her head, ignoring her.

"What I'm saying is that the Dent Act put away all these criminals in Black Gate. The Dent Act is a lie." Chance said clearly, staring at Ace, hoping that she'd get the point.

Ace took the hint. She smirked,

"So the entire law is nullified."

Chance smiled that knowing smile.

"Yes."

"So, Bane's going to do what I think he's going to do?" said Ace, taking in another glass.

Chance nodded.

"When the criminals were also imprisoned, so was Joker."

Ace perked up, turning to Chance with an impish grin on her face. Ace tipped the glass to her lips and passed the booze down her throat.

"Well, I think I'll like this martial law thing after all," Ace drawled.

Chance merely shrugged.

At the break of dawn, Chance, Ace, and Bane filed into the roaring tumblers onto the city streets. Pedestrians on the sidewalks followed the tumblers with tepid curiosity. Paparazzi poured from every van to catch a glimpse of what was happening. Three of the desert camouflage tanks halted. The top of the tank steamed slightly as the gunner pulled off the top mechanically. From under the steel pit, Bane, Chance, and Ace rose from the middle and stood on top of tumbler in distinct authority. Ace grinned widely at the range of camera women and men circling the area. Chance observed her friend with scrutiny. Ace enjoyed the power. Sadistic in nature, sarcastic in conversation, and deadly in battle, Ace would become her own queen in a kingdom with little effort.

A mix of Gotham's most feared villains, the people of the city stared blankly at the three of them standing on the tumbler. Pictures were taken of them. The cameras filmed them from every angle. Chance stood beside Bane with a liking. She glanced at Ace, who slowly turned from the crowd to stare at Black Gate Prison with resentment.

Chance already could tell that Ace wanted to storm the building already, to kill every officer, to free the man that held her heart in one hand, and the key in the other, and both were shackled behind bars. What might have been more poetic was that it hurt Ace to be away from Joker for so long. Chance turned to her captain, Barsad, and she snapped her fingers at him. Ace momentarily turned her attention to look at Barsad. The two of them acknowledged the others presence with admiration. Barsad tossed Chance a wireless microphone. Ace's attention was resumed on the dark building before her, glaring at it in stewing anger. Were it human, it would have vomited its prisoners.

A cold breeze tattered through the air. A stirring nausea crept its way into Chance's belly. She gulped hard, hoping to keep that down. Ace glanced at her friend, noticing the slight sway in Chance's stand.

"What's going on?" she whispered.

"I'll be fine," muttered Chance quietly.

Ace's eyes flickered from Chance's stomach to her face.

"How far along are you?" she muttered.

"Three weeks…Oh…" Chance gave Ace an irritated look.

Ace confirmed the assumption.

_Nausea…Great…_

Chance handed Bane the microphone. He glanced at her swiftly, but took it up to his mouthpiece.

"Behind you stands a symbol of oppression," Bane declared. "Black Gate Prison. Where a thousand men have languished for years. Under the Dent Act. Under the name of this man."

Bane held up a color photograph of the flawless District Attorney. Ace glanced at momentarily, but returned her eyes to the penitentiary. Chance's stomach did a nervous loop at the picture, but nevertheless.

"Harvey Dent." Bane said. "Held up to you—and _over_ you—as a shining example of justice and good. Bu you have been supplied with a false idol."

Chance watched Bane rip the photo in half.

_I see what you did there,_ Chance thought, lightly amused.

The crowd fell silent as his words. They were shocked. Camera men holding their eyes to the piece lowered their recorders, staring at the real thing in little dismay. Ace saw several eyes peek out from the barred windows of the prison. She searched each one for a brown pair staring from behind a face of make-up. Searching…

Chance looked at her. Ace was a murderer, and even Ace was trying to locate someone she lost. Chance smiled sweetly. In some cases, love _did _conquer all.

Chance looked over her shoulder to see the eyes of hardened criminals watching with interest. She heard raucous cheering in the background, which could only mean that they were hearing this too.

"A straw man to placate you," continued Bane, "to stop you from tearing down this corrupt city and rebuilding it the way it should have been rebuilt, generations ago. Let me tell you the truth about Harvey Dent. In the words of Gotham's police commissioner, James Gordon."

Chance pulled the papers of Gordon's speech from the long pocket of her Marine jacket and handed the papers to Bane. He nodded to her and straightened them out. He read aloud,

"'The truth about Harvey Dent is simple in only one regard—it has been hidden for too long. After his devastating injuries, Harvey's mind recovered no better than his mutilated face. He was a broken, dangerous man, not the crusader for justice that I, James Gordon, have portrayed him to be for the last eight years. Harvey's rage was indiscriminate. Psychopathic.'"

Chance stared into the crowd of shocked spectators. While these people were finding out for the first time, and Bane had found this out only about six months ago, Chance had known this for eight long years since she had seen Harvey fall to his death. She had reformed him physically, and he had become good, then he had fallen back to what he was before he met Rachel. Chance could only believe that in darkest circumstances, Joker was right: "_In the last moments of their lives, people show you who they really are._"

Chance glanced at Ace, whose attention turned from Black Gate, to look at Bane. She was hearing the speech for the first time as well. Ace met Chance's eyes. James Gordon wasn't the type of person to play with a dirty secret. Ace's look of resignation showed that she simply accepted that with grace.

Chance turned to Bane, who continued, after shaking his head slightly from the repulsive letter.

"'He held my family at gunpoint, then fell to his death in the struggle over my son's life. The Batman did not murder Harvey Dent—he saved my boy. Then the Batman took the blame for Harvey's appalling crimes, so that I could, to my shame, build a lie around this fallen idol. I praised the madman who tried to murder my own child.

"The things we did in Harvey's name brought desperately needed security to our streets. But I can no longer live with my lie. It is time to trust the people of Gotham with the truth, and it is time for me to resign.'"

Bane folded the papers and handed them to Chance, who took them weakly. He gazed out over the speechless crowd, which included reporters and neighborhood toughs.

Bane called out to the mob.

"Do you accept this man's resignation?"

At first, no one responded, but then angry faces in the back started shouting,

"_Yes!_"

Chance and Ace's eyes darted up the spoken voices. From behind them, the prisoners of Black Gate screamed from the barred windows,

"_YES!"_

More voices joined the choir, angrily screaming confirmation. Ace's eyes fell upon the barred windows, seeing all the criminals bang their fists against their cells, screaming their agreement. Ace smirked at her fellow inmates, whooping loudly. Bane glanced behind him to see the criminals there. He momentarily met the stunned eyes of Chance, who was shocked at the citizens of Gotham.

"Do you accept," said Bane loudly, turning his eyes from Chance's view to the crowd, "the resignation of all the liars? _All the corrupt!_?"

"_YES!_" came the answer, both inside and outside the prison. They gave Bane their answer, "YES!"

Bane glanced at her and nodded his head. Chance turned to the tumblers and signaled. One other armored tumbler swiveled a formidable turret gun to the entrance of the prison gates. Bane turned to the crowd,

"We take Gotham from the corrupt," Bane roared, shouting over the excited mob, "The rich! The oppressors of generations who have kept you down with the myth of opportunity. And we give the city to you, the people. Gotham is yours—none shall interfere.

"Do as you please!"

Ace jumped when hellfire blasted from the cannon, blowing the heavy iron gates to pieces. Twisted metal fragments clattered down onto the sidewalk, leaving an open smoldering cavity in the walls of the prison.

"But start by storming Black Gate and freeing the oppressed," he continued. "Step forward, those who would serve…"

Barsad cocked his machine gun and led his men through the smoking hole of Black Gate; screamed roared as the mob chased after them into Black Gates bombarded entrance, eagerly joining the revolt. Ace turned to Chance, who held out an unsheathed dagger from her waist. She glanced at Bane, then to Chance.

"You heard him, Ace," said Chance with smirk. "Do as you please."

Ace grabbed the knife of Chance's open hand and flew off the tumbler like a readied assassin. Mob members dived out of her way. Bane watched the citizens of Gotham raid the prison, each person angrier than the next. He turned to her.

"Chance."

She glanced at him.

"When, exactly, were you going to tell me that you knew about Harvey's death?"

She shrugged, and admitted, "You would have figured it out eventually."

Bane nodded. She smiled slightly. He handed her a knife from his belt.

"Go in there with Ace. Leave none of them task force alive. Find Crane."


	30. Free Pardons

Author's Note: _I hope you all are enjoying these chapters still. Things are starting to really liven up for Chance, and it might just get more chaotic as the story proceeds. For now, just sit down, eat some popcorn, drink your favorite beverage, and enjoy the show, Ladies and Gentlemen._

_Let the games begin._

City in Pieces II

Chapter Thirty: Free Pardons

The fervent mob was an epitome of hate and deceit. Powered by the fact that the Dent Act was created under the pretense of an officer's lie, the people of Gotham stormed through the lobby and trampled uneasy, frightened guards. They had heard Bane' speech over the roaring fury of their inmates, and from the visual aid through the neighboring windows, security already knew what was happening before it did. Some managed to slip away with little effort, but as the stones fell from the wall, and the mob shattered through the cavity, and the rambunctious mass murderer Ace clamored through the people with light in her eyes, the guards already knew that fighting was forfeit. After Ace, Chance pursued her friend, holding a sharpened dagger in her hands.

Ace was agile in her years. Chance followed her through the screaming torment of the security guards as Bane's men clubbed them over their heads with the ends of their guns. Chance quickly glanced across the faces of freeing men; she had recognized several of them to be the imprisoned members of the League of Shadows from the arrest at the Stock Exchange. Ace hunted through the corridors. Officers who stepped in her way to obtain her met an untimely demise. Ace took Chance's dagger in a firm grip and slit several throats. Arterial blood splashed the walls. The bodies were shocked, swaying on their feet before plummeting to the ground. A few rookies popped out of empty cells to catch Ace by her arms; one man managed to clothesline her, hitting her hard in the throat. They tried to pin her down, succeeding, but only for a moment. Ace bit the hand of the uniformed officer that had his fingers around her mouth. When he rose out of pain, she elbowed him in the gut, sending him to the ground. Ace resumed with him by punching him hard in the throat. He choked, unable to breathe. Chance turned to see the second man trying to reach for his handcuffs in dismay. Ace knocked the shackles out of his hands then slapped him across the jaw. While he was forestalled, the third man holding her down by her stomach looked at her in dismay: Ace raised a knee and broke several of his ribs. Ace busied herself with two men. The third that was punched in the throat scattered toward his abandoned pistol and then took aim. Chance threw her dagger straight at him. Ace thumped the guards easily, and then heard a whooshing sound in her ear. Ace turned in time to see Chance's dagger impale the armed officer dead center in the middle of his eyes. Blood fell down the bridge of his nose.

Ace reached for the handle. The man whimpered as she gripped it in a strong hand and drew out the blade as Arthur did with his sword from the stone. The officer fell to her feet, dead.

Ace tossed the knife back to Chance.

"Come on, girl," said Ace with relish, "You miss hanging out with me. All of this…" Ace held the entire massacre with high regards. "Remember?"

"Things have changed," Chance retorted with a simple shrug. "Where's Crane?"

Ace smiled enduringly.

"Oh, let's not be too hasty, Chance. After all, I enjoy the heat of battle as the next person. However, since you and Bane are military personnel, I suppose I'll have to follow some sort of rule." A look from Chance made Ace shrug with little care. "Hey, I don't like rules, but Bane's quite the charismatic man. Joker's through here."

Ace led Chance through a separated corridor.

As they entered, the cell doors slid open and the Arkham Asylum prisoners poured out of their jail cells, trashing the place on their way out. Unlucky guards—the ones who hadn't fled or hidden in time—found themselves on the receiving end of eight years or more of pent-up grudges. Chance could only stare at the masses. Poison Ivy, red-haired and bearing quite a color in her green eyes, was taking three officers at a time. Her partner in crime, Harley Quinn, blonde and blue-eyed, gave the advancing guards a run for their money as she field-stripped their weapons, bashing them over their faces with the dismantled pieces of their guns. Penguin, hat-topped and wearing a tuxedo, withdrew an umbrella from his cell; a silver dagger slipped out of the top. He gutted two men approaching him from behind. Killer Croc, apparently recovered from Bane's work on him, roared feverishly as five men clambered onto his backside. He threw them off easily. Then he bit into one man's arm with intent to chop it off. Max Shreck, the handsome politician with a crafty head on his shoulders, disarmed a neighboring officer and shot him several rounds into his belly.

Chance watched Ace burrow through the officers that were assaulting her friends. Ace's reputation preceded her. While Chance knew a 1000 ways to beat somebody's ass, Ace knew 1000 ways to kill someone. Only Batman knew 500 ways to do that. Ace was a bloody turret gun through the maze of carnage. Poison Ivy was taking a heavy beating from a well-built officer. As the officer tried to hand Ivy's ass to her, Ace grabbed his wrist, twisted it, and then shoved his hand down his throat. She suffocated him with the meat on his bones. Blood fell out of his mouth. Ace headed toward two officers whom were trying to shackle Harley Quinn. Out of the commonality of having Joker as their boss, Harley and Ace worked as a team to take down several opposing guards; they threw simultaneous, flexible kicks to the men's testicles, sending each regretful man to their knees. Ace took off down the farthest cell. Chance didn't move until she saw Ace lift a heavy chair from in front of a glass cell and throw it with vigor, shattering the transparent wall. Chance heard a loud cackle. Apparently Ace found him.

The remaining guards in the corridor took notice of Chance. They abandoned their mission to arrest the prisoners and pursued an even bigger fish. Armed weapons cocked as they raced toward her. Chance simply tossed down the dagger. When they were in arms-length, Chance buried them under a weight of fierce anger, shattering one's collar bone, another's jaw, and breaking an unarmed officer's leg. One came to close, and punched her hard in the stomach. Chance's eyes blazed. She took the man's head and snapped it swiftly, sending the poor sod to the ground.

The corridor was only filled with dead bodies and inmates. Ace and Joker joined the rally, arm-in-arm, reunited as they should be. Chance wiped blood from her face and pocketed Bane's dagger in her military trousers. She took each face in turn. Suffering from an on-set of fatigue, Chance bent forward, hands on knees, and breathed out slowly. Ace disbanded from Joker with a fading smile. She helped Chance straighten her back.

"You shouldn't be fighting." Ace advised her lightly.

"I'm fine."

"You're pregnant, Chance." Ace said crudely.

"I said that I'm fine," Chance retorted irritably.

From the crowding members of Arkham Asylum, Harley Quinn approached Chance and Ace with a slight smile on her face.

"How could _you_ be pregnant?" said Harley in her New Jersey accent. Joker looked up at the ceiling with slight annoyance. "'Less you and the big guy are screwin' around."

The neighboring villains glanced at her obviously. She shrugged when she noticed the overall understanding of the situation.

"Not all bosses sleep with their workers," said Harley, hands on hips.

"Not the honest ones," Ace retorted by Chance's side, glancing at Joker reverently.

Chance shook away the conversation.

"We're not here to save you all," said Chance to the crowd. "You were sentenced under a policy that was created under a lie. The policy puts away convicted and suspected felons. Although I very much doubt that any of you are innocent, because I _do_ know," said Chance, "The law is invalid, and it's by a righteous line of reason that all of you go free."

"That's quite a step for mankind," said Max Shreck from the masses.

Chance gave him a wary smile. A face with blue eyes and white hair, Chance hadn't seen Max in years. He had been one of her star-crossed lovers, one of the better ones. Ace looked at Max with understanding. It seemed far-fetched that for years, they had been incarcerated, and suddenly a new villain steps up the game and now they can roam free.

Ace looked at Chance, who was giving them all a certain look.

"These people," explained Ace, "have been in prison for years, decades, even. You can see why they're doubtful, can't you?"

"I understand the skepticism," Chance answer, straightening her back. "But it's the truth. When you leave this place, you won't be arrested. You _can't _be arrested. The officers are below. Trapped. It's a promise."

"Ahh, the promises," cooed a voice from behind. Chance looked over her shoulder to see Scarecrow standing behind her, arms crossed, and leaning against the door frame. He had his mask over his face. In his hand, he held a stolen pistol. Chance looked at him fondly, but only just.

"What's stopping the government from coming here to kill you, Chance?" said Scarecrow, approaching her. "After so many years, you disappear. Then when you fail, you're gone again. Supposing that all this goes to plan, are you going to vanish when it seems that you have failed once more?"

"This won't fail," assured Chance with certainty.

Unknown to anyone else in the corridor, Batman was being held in prison a few continents away in Africa.

Scarecrow glanced between Ace and Chance. His blue eyes were clear in the eye holes of his mask. He pulled it off his head in conclusion. Still, he was a handsome man.

"Awful lot of confidence from a woman who's guarded all the time." He smiled. "I hear that you've got a little one on the way." A smirk. "I wonder who the father is," he said sarcastically.

Chance glanced at Ace, who shrugged.

"You never told me to keep it a secret," said Ace.

"Wouldn't _you_ like to keep it a secret," snapped Chance, hands on hips.

Ace gave her a look, and then said,

"I wouldn't keep that from anyone if it were possible."

Chance looked at her momentarily. Ace smiled sincerely. She indicated her waist.

"I had the procedure done when I went rogue, Chance." Ace said. "Sterile," she said with a light voice.

The only other person who was infertile in the room was Poison Ivy. The toxin in her blood killed every one of her possibilities within 24 hours.

Scarecrow shrugged.

"If it's all the same to you, I would recommend _not_ fighting while you're like this, Chance. It could be fatal." He handed her a small look of resignation. "Though of course, that's only one thing that could ruin your delivery. Considering that you've been on Oxycontin for a few years—"

"I stopped using three weeks ago," said Chance mindfully. "And I'll appreciate it if you, and the rest of you, not to discuss my heir. If it's all the same to you," she said to Scarecrow. He merely smiled at her.

Chance turned to the crowd.

"Bane meant every word out there. An army will be raised. The prisoners of Black Gate are being handed weapons. They'll loot the houses of the rich, swiping everything in their paths. Luxury apartment buildings are not forbidden anymore. Take what you want from the banks and the bar. You will meet no resistance."

"Sounds too good to be true if you ask me," drawled Joker, leaning against the wall. "Aren't you forgetting one itty bitty, crucial detail? A small gear in the machine that if broken, it can send a boat sinking into the Nile?"

Poison Ivy stepped in.

"The Batman," she stated seriously. "Chance, we all know that your reputation precedes you, but no one has ever eliminated him. How are you so sure that you have done it?"

"_I_ haven't done anything to the man in the black hood, Ivy," retorted Chance. "But rest assured, he's immobile right now."

Max Shreck gave the people a look of acceptance.

"That sounds good to me," he muttered.

Chance spoke to the inmates once more,

"The powerful will be ripped from their nests. Judges, officers, bailiffs, lawyers, and those who have led your sentences astray will face the world that we've all had to endure. They'll live among us. Common neighborhood children.

"Courts will be convened," continued Chance. "Kangaroo courts will be held where the stock exchange was being held. Those who oppose us will be charged with high crimes and treason against the people of Gotham. All of them are guilty." She turned to Crane. "Bane wants you to rule these hearings. After all, you're one of the administers of Arkham Asylum after all."

Scarecrow smirked.

"I figured that you would enjoy taking the political stand…Pun not intended," he added.

"I give orders to my recruits, Jonathan," said Chance seriously. "Dealing with these matters would be easier for me to sentence every one of them to death. For all I know, everyone in this city deserves to burn alive with the rest of mankind, but I digress." Chance glanced at Ace. "Those who choose exile will be sentenced to walk across the river on thin ice. Those who choose death will hang. Blood will shed. But the police will live, until they are ready to serve true justice."

Chance smiled.

"Bane claims that this city will endure. Gotham will survive."

Ace gave Chance a knowing look.

_If there is still enough time on the clock, that is,_ Chance thought to herself. Ace was probably thinking the same thing too.


	31. Inner Fire

City in Pieces II

Chapter Thirty-One: Inner Fire

Bane's word was law. Three months brought the winter cold, snow, and the thin ice along Gotham's river banks. The civilians that joined the reckoning of Gotham were handed weapons and gunfire; those who opposed face Jonathan Crane in a kangaroo court, ordered either exile to walk on the freezing ice, or choose death by hanging. The jurors were made up of the inmates of Black Gate along with Ace, Joker, Ivy, Max Shreck, Penguin, and several others who had been released from Arkham's security hold including the thin man who powered over the dark, Mr. Shade; Mad Hatter; a very alive doll named Toy Man; and crooked politicians that were or were not guilty. Those who could neither choose the prolonged fate of exile or the idea of tying a rope around the neck were given a third option. Though the generous feat was more ominous than it was as its proclamation. A few times in the day, as per her agreement with Chance after the inmates of Arkham were settled in a very prestigious penthouse, Ace would step off the jury as an order from Crane. Naturally, there was usually a large crowd on inmates watching the view with interest. Ace's reputation was valid among criminals and civilians alike. So when Crane would hand his former fling the sword of Truth, it was expected that the mercy kill would be right then and there.

The officers who managed to flee met their families in their houses, under house arrest. Any officer who was found lying about on the street, or roaming the city with intention to find the trigger man to the nuclear bomb was to be arrested and sent to court immediately. The trigger man, of course, was Talia, who held onto it in her waist coat the entire time.

The nuclear bomb was on one of the three trucks circling the city, forever on the move with the no intent on stopping. Mercenaries did this in shifts to avoid falling asleep or letting a lone vigilante find the bomb.

The MCU below Gotham were fed daily, but only the small crème de la crop would provide nourishment to cramping, unable bodies of Officer Ramirez and the Captain Ross. None of the officers preyed into the temptation of joining Bane's army for the relief of a full belly. Officer Ramirez, once a dirty cop for Maroni, didn't budge when her stomach screamed for more stale bread when she finished her last plate. Chance had observed her with some interest. Apparently, she was finally clean from her past crooked deals. Apparently, she had boundary lines. Officer Ross was trapped while his family lived in the house, surrounded by mercenaries.

Ace had once informed Chance that she wanted to leave Gotham before the reckoning, but as the spoils of Daggett's penthouse became more fervent with a sorbet of food at her hands, and the luxuries of wine and cigars filled the cabinets, Ace became homey with the new cliché of Gotham. Daggett's Penthouse was the main building that Arkham's finest resided. Each villain made his or her nest on one floor, and that was all the room that they needed.

During the middle of the three months, Ace's attention span was dying, but it would be renewed when more civilians refused Bane's offer for recruitment, and Crane would call her in on her night off to slay more justice. Crane, of course, had picked up an amusing streak during his time in Arkham, making a few puns during his trials, to the amusement of several others. He had relaxed quite a bit ever since he quit working in Arkham's administration. Even a bit less tense since the DA girl, Rachel Dawes was eliminated competition.

Every now and again, there would be some people who would try to turn on Bane's law. Those who had wanted the overturn so badly were beginning to think twice about their true desire for change. Many of them were oily politicians who once rooted for the callous Two-Face, but now were reconsidering their forest of lies. Bane handed the men over to Crane as well. And although Bane was the main man in the mission, the location of the Stock Exchange was Crane's playground. Bane handed Crane authority in the courtroom. He let Crane make the decisions. Chance attended the trials with some amusement, though her own situation was beginning to get more complicated.

Three months made Chance's ability to fight rebels a little more difficult. Apprehension clouded her mind when she brawled with unruly civilians. Ace, who had always been intuitive, had glanced at her best friend one night when they were catching three or four adults trying to escape through the sewer grates. Although Chance was quite the fighter and could hold her own, Ace considered that she was right: Chance couldn't brawl like before. Ace couldn't have a child of her own, and she wasn't specifically drawn to them either. It was obvious to her record: she killed at least a dozen of them in her lifetime. But Ace was beginning to wonder if Chance and Bane's treatment of the heir to their cult was beginning to cloud their minds.

Ace excused herself from present company, leaving Joker in his wares, though promising to return in a few hours. She left the top floor of Daggett's abandoned penthouse. Taking the stairs as a habit, Ace could spot the villains enjoying their own playgrounds as well.

Ivy invested the florist companies. She had taken every potted plant imaginable with relish. Harley Quinn roomed with Ivy, officially taken off the back burner of Joker's list of Hench girls. After all these years, to inspire Joker's affections for her was unrequited.

Penguin took to the zoological obsession décor, affirming his love for aviary with the tropical birds flying around the room with free will. Crane's own floor was probably the most normal out of all the other criminal bosses, namely for he rendered several books in large shelves and computers upon desks. Crane did pull his strings, not only connections but for their past deals with Chance. He had put in a request for the rare blue flowers found in the Himalayan Mountains where the original headquarters of the League of Shadows was located. Chance's knowledge of the poppy, and the extractions of the flower, indicated that she would owe Crane the reward of keeping her existence to a low hush. She accepted his request.

Crane's toxin was being made in his own home. Untouched.

Ace wrapped a fur coat around her shoulders to brace the winters. Knowing Chance would probably decline the idea of withdrawal from a good fight, Ace didn't bother searching for her. The snow covered the streets and city marks. Those who were out on the sidewalks were looters and muggers. Although they glanced in Ace's direction with their eyes drawn to her furry outlining and the diamonds that clung to her ears, they didn't dare try touching her. If she were innocuous, it was dangerous to assault Ace; even they knew that she had some sort of connection with Bane and Chance, though the citizens of Gotham would only imagine that it was finally a blossoming friendship.

Ace paced through the snow in knee-high boots. She passed a moving tumbler on the road, a truck following behind. Ace watched it. The truck had Barsad in the driver's seat. He glanced at her direction and waved. Ace merely watched him go. She approached the steps of City Hall. This was headquarters, also the homage of the leaders of the League of Shadows. Ace pushed open the doors. Security was three guards in the military uniform that Chance was wearing all the time. Ace had deduced that all the high-ranked officers wore Marine trousers and jackets; and then the ranks fell with Army being second-ranked, and Navy uniforms were the initialized officers, a promotion from recruits. Knowing the high-ranked officers by their attire, Ace merely stared at the three of them in confrontation. They didn't say or do anything. They stepped aside to let her pass.

Ace entered City Hall for the first time without being attacked or shot at with sniper rifles. She sought out the man of the hour. Bane was seated at a desk in the middle of the large room. Computers circled around him. Ace assumed that these were the monitors that Chance had mentioned in their little talks. Filming every angle of Gotham's snowy corners, no one could go amiss. She saw his eyes watch the screens carefully.

Ace threw off her coat onto the desk. His eyes instantly were on her, knowing the presence of a murderer when he knew one. Ace held a different air than Chance, so he really didn't have to look at Ace to know that it wasn't the second commander. Chance could silence a room just by standing in it. A military general in a basic training ground was Chance's aura. Someone who was calculating, patient, mindful, and watchful, though dangerous. Ace's air was of repugnant arrogance, but she wasn't wrong to feel that. Though her physical prowess was quite extensive, she was actually one of the smartest people that Bane had ever countered. He merely gazed at her in overall inspection.

"This will be the first time that you have ever come to me," said Bane, "unarmed, and alone."

Ace stared at him.

"You frighten me," she admitted, to Bane's surprise, "and I want nothing more than to leave this room right now. However," she continued, "I am a very good liar, and I can hide my emotions very well. I've done it for years."

Bane watched Ace plop down on the edge of the desk away from him.

"You're being serious with me." Bane observed, amused. "Highly bizarre considering the traits that you share with your Jack of Spades."

Ace smirked slightly.

"That pun is entertaining," she said. "Although I think that your humor is well-placed, because the pun refers to Joker's real name and what he does with spades, I think that right about now is when I need to be grave."

Bane leaned back in his chair, looking away from the monitors.

"Business," said Ace, "is not one of my favorite things to do. It's too associated with politics, and I don't much care for politicians. I don't even like anything related to being politically correct, but considering present company, I think a bit of courtesy in order." Ace said matter-of-factly. "I do, after all, have to thank you for freeing the inmates of Arkham."

"As I've told Chance in the past, don't say thank you. It's a sign of weakness."

Ace shoved away that remark. She circled the desk to stand in front of him.

"Look, Bane," she said, "she's actually the reason why I'm here."

"Oh?" inserted Bane curiously.

The echo of his mask caused a shiver to spine down Ace's back. He was too calm for a man of his size.

"Yes," she said, regaining her composure. "As I understand the situation, your lieutenant is three months pregnant. That baby's growing in her. I've noticed that she's changed. She's showing."

"I've been monitoring the situation, Ace," said Bane seriously. "I know what is happening to her."

"Chance said that you have quite the capacity for knowledge, so it doesn't surprise me that you know how this works," remarked Ace. "She was losing energy last month, but she's picked up since then. Chance is fighting those who stand against you, and as much I also admire that quality about her—what, with the righteousness and seeking justice—I don't much care for the fact that she's doing this all while she's pregnant. She'll get that baby killed."

Bane considered her for the moment.

Ace merely met his eyes, but when he didn't reply, she continued.

"Chance isn't the irritable type, Bane, I should know. She is becoming more irritated as the protocol continues. And when she gets to the point where she is furious, she _will _kill people."

Bane shrugged.

"You kill people all the time," he said to a bored-looking Chance. "Why would I begrudge her a few bodies, hm?"

"Chance doesn't fling her hands like I do, Bane. I think we both know that."

"Don't condescend, Ace."

"Then perhaps you might want to step it up a little and meet me halfway," retorted Ace boldly. She leaned forward on the desk, hands pressed hard against the wood. Bane looked at her more intently.

"I know that you and Chance are merely raising this human being for something that's less than a romantic aspiration or a family-orientated reason. This baby is still a person, Bane, and if you put Chance in the middle of gunfire, she _will _get shot, and you _will_ lose this kid."

"I'm curious whether or not you are concerned about Chance or the child." Bane said.

"I've murdered twelve children in the past, Bane," said Ace seriously. "I never entailed that all of those children were actually born."

Bane stared at her.

"You have got some nerve, Ace." Bane told her. Ace couldn't tell if that was a compliment or a belittling insult.

Ace pushed on.

"I am concerned for Chance. I may not be able to see the reason why she is so attracted to a man like you, and she's as blind as it is when she is trying to understand why I'm absolutely connected to Joker, but I see this. You are not protecting Chance whatsoever by putting her in the crossfire."

Bane rose to his feet. Ace backed away from him.

"You're crossing a very thin line." Bane threatened dangerously.

Ace shrugged,

"I've had my own deals with pain. I certainly can put up with whatever you throw at me."

Bane sighed.

"The only reason why you're alive is because Chance spared you. I would like to think that you would return the favor." He sat back down.

Ace cocked her head to the side.

"Business offer?" she asked.

Bane motioned for Ace to approach. He clicked on the keyboard to a separate laptop. On the screen, an online viewing of FBI's Most Wanted appeared in Ace's eyes. On the first top 5, Ace saw her own photograph. Ace looked to her left to see the third most wanted. Chance's beaming image watched Ace from the screen.

"This is the ranked Top 5 across the globe," said Bane seriously. "I know the danger that Chance is put through; I keep this on file to see if it changes. You are on here too." He clicked Ace's profile. Words fell for pages and pages.

Ace's skills and specialties, quirks, appearance changes, and her associated gangs were listed down the site. Ace read over a few with interest.

_Acrobatics _

_Hand-to-Hand combat _

_Flexibility_

_Locksmith _

_Pick Pocket_

_Arsonist _

_Demolition expert _

_Perfected Wheelsman_

_Con Artist _

_Weapon specialist_

_Genius Intellect_

_Perceptive_

_Deadly assassin_

"They really did their homework, didn't they?" Ace remarked, reviewing the bulleted information.

Bane clicked on Chance's profile.

_Strategies of warfare_

_Weaponry identification_

_Electrician _

_Engineer_

_Bomb expert _

_Hand-to-Hand combat_

_Acrobatics _

_Psychological perception _

_Polymath _

_Knowledge of Medicinal drugs _

_Medical expert_

_Knowledge of the Law_

_Hunter/ tracker _

_Novice Alchemist_

"Chance is at risk," Bane told Ace. "The intelligence agencies are very knowledgeable of what all she can do, and the only way I've been able to elude them is to stay hidden. The government knows that you two are here, but I highly doubt that they're aware of her condition. Since you are so ready to help Chance, I'll offer you a business transaction."

Ace looked at him.

"You're lying about how you're going to free Gotham. You'll blow the entire city before anybody can try to change. Why should I trust you?"

"It's actually more of trust on my part than yours," said Bane officially.

"I tried to kill Chance. Why trust me at all?" Ace said seriously, crossing her arms.

"You're her friend and ally. I'd expect nothing but your strongest efforts to protect Chance at all costs. You are capable of tremendous loyalty, Ace, which is one of the reasons why I bear your existence at all."

"What of Chance until the baby comes?" asked Ace coldly. "I can't be with her all the time."

"Talia al Ghul is aware of the situation that Chance bears. For years, we've hidden a serum in a container that would give the heir of the League of Shadows distinct powers, forged from personality and most restrained emotion."

"Is this a drug or some magic voodoo?" Ace inquired.

"It's a drug. Talia's father bought it off the black market from an estranged monk. It's a serum containing an elixir that will trigger a phenomenon. Talia will give this drug to Chance. When she can no longer fight, she will use this power to assist her in keeping the baby alive."

Ace gave him a look.

"Seems too convenient that you would have this serum on hand for several years. You hadn't met Chance before until like 20 years ago. How come Talia didn't take this drug or serum or whatever creepy thing is in this vial?"

"Talia and I have no use for it. We hold our own. Chance, though, has always bore the burden of compassion. You know it."

Ace nodded. She rolled her eyes.

"She shares the same weakness as Batman," retorted Ace casually.

"She does, doesn't she?" muttered Bane.

"Chance's restrained emotion is anger," Ace divulged carelessly. "So, this power she'll obtain will be like fire, right?"

"Assumedly, yes." Bane stated sincerely.

Ace sighed. She agreed to his terms.

"I don't see why you have to make this complicated Bane. It would have been easier to bear a kid before you decided to take over the world." Ace called at him on her way out the door.

Bane gave an amused chuckle, and then returned to the monitors.


	32. Protection

City in Pieces II

Chapter Thirty-Two: Protection

Talia's role in Gotham's reckoning was to play the part of the innocent, frightened CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and she was playing accordingly. The board members looked to her for support and hope, and although truly she wouldn't offer them any way out of Gotham, she sustained a considerable amount of treachery. Talia was attempting to help a free Gordon find the truck with the nuclear bomb, but for three months, they were leading astray by her own hand. Several stragglers against Bane's campaign were caught by Talia's intervention. By all accounts, she 'managed' to slip away, unscathed.

Talia al Ghul was informed of Bane's confrontation with Bane. She wasn't surprised that it was Chance's old friend who would bring up the subject of the safety of the heir. Talia had never encountered a conversation with Ace, and it was by choice. Ace stood for everything that Talia fought against in her reign for vengeance: Ace played a part in every member of the League of Shadows. She was most likely the reason why half the men took the oath to wreak vengeance on the world. Talia wouldn't try to obtain Ace, though she was willing to fight her.

Talia found Chance on the second floor of City Hall, sitting on the window sill behind a large desk in the middle of the office. Talia, dressed in a plum tunic and black leggings, approached the desk quietly. Chance was glowing from her hormones. Her hands were fixated on her baby bump, though her eyes fell one story down to peer at the street below. Gotham's looters, thieves, muggers, rapists, murderers raided the land with the lowest of instincts, purging homes that belonged to the wealthiest citizens, and most likely having their way with them as well. Talia stepped toward Chance mildly. She could note the distinct look the woman's face. Something of disgust, another of pride.

"This is what Gotham is reduced to without law or responsibility," said Chance quietly.

"It's a terrible sight in any way, Chance," said Talia.

"It's an epidemic." Chance retorted, turning to Talia. "How long are we going to let this go on?"

"As long as the bomb ticks. Five months." Talia answered.

"That's a lot of time for those who don't deserve it." Chance replied coldly, returning her gaze to the streets.

Talia joined Chance at the window. She looked to the snow-covered city with the same look. What Chance saw was destruction. What Talia saw was a renovation for a city that was dying. That _is_ dying. Talia smiled at her.

"Bane has put Ace as your protector."

Chance nodded.

"I figured that would have happened anyway."

"So you already know?" asked Talia curiously.

"No, but Ace has been worried about me for a while now."

"You can't fight in this condition. Ace is right about that."

"I can defend myself," assured Chance.

"Not without harming your heir."

Chance looked at Talia. She searched for meaning. Talia withdrew a bottle from the pocket of her tunic. She handed it to Chance, who peered at it curiously.

"What's this?"

"Your solution to your problem," Talia answered.

"Another drug? I don't think so," declined Chance politely.

"You don't have a choice in the matter," said Talia. "Bane and I have discussed this before. This is a drug that my father bought from a monk, Chance. It has divine powers. The drinker inhabits the powers that combine personality and the most restrained emotion."

"I can't take this, Talia," said Chance, shaking her head. "I am powerful enough without being a metahuman…"

"And you won't think about that when you're eight months along and you're wobbling like a penguin," retorted Talia ruefully. "Bane and I have discussed this before. We're certain of the power that you will possess. After calculations of what personality traits you possess, and the emotions that you repress, we think that you'll be granted with pyrokinesis."

"'_Grant?_" Chance exclaimed. "This is a serum, a liquid. You speak of it as if it's a God."

"It has a divine definition. We were going to use this on the heir once it was born. While Bane, you, and I are humans, advanced as we may be, the League of Shadows has been nearly wiped out at one point or another. My father's death is a sure sign of our mortality; the next leader must be more than just a human. He or she must be dangerous, more than what you and I currently stand for."

"So because I am getting _bigger_," said Chance outright, "I have to take the chance of becoming some kind of monster in order to preserve my right on a proverbial throne."

"You need protection for your child, Chance," insisted Talia. "Ace is not going to be there forever."

Chance considered the argument. She observed the vial in her palm.

"You say I'll be a pyrokinetic…Why?"

"Since Ace and Bane know you the best, they tell me that you restrain from fierce anger, though it comes out occasionally. This power will emerge when you feel threatened or irritated, and according to Bane: the angrier you become, the stronger your pyrokinetic abilities will grow."

Chance sighed.

"You realize that I'm irritated now, right?"

"Of course," said Talia.

"Just making sure.." Chance muttered. She unscrewed the top. She gestured lukewarmly. "Cheers."

She tossed it back.


	33. Loose Ends

City in Pieces II

Chapter Thirty-Three: Loose Ends

Talia al Ghul had anticipated that Chance's body would react to the serum as a drug, not a power-inducing chemical, due to her usage in the past. It was not surprising when Chance didn't feel any different. Bane described the process as a scientific procedure. The toxin would go through her blood stream in a matter of minutes, but because Chance was already irritated when she consumed it, it ran faster through her body than the normal expectancy. The serum headed straight toward the center of her brain, and inflicted the amygdala, which controls the emotion of anger. The molecules from the toxin latched onto vital strings of her brain, and would become aggravated if she were to be irritated, but theory was that if she were to experience the definition of rage, the highest form of anger, while annoyance was at the other.

Talia and Bane had researched those who were inflicted, or perhaps blessed, with pyrokinesis, and according to the collected data, those who felt rage usually engulfed themselves into a body of fire involuntarily.

After hearing the information of her new power, Chance looked at Bane with annoyance. Her hands were reddening from the consumption of the drug. They were heating, though she didn't particularly enjoy the sensation. Chance could feel hot flashes, very much like standing very still in a hot room, and suddenly warmth would encase her neck and shoulders. She wasn't entirely sure about the process.

"I can't help but see that this as an added weakness," said Chance, looking at Bane accordingly. "I'm a liar at will, Bane. It'll be hard to cover any anger if it just comes out anyway through this"—Chance held up her hand to him and her fingertips ignited. Chance's face glowed in the small flames. Bane observed the first flames with some amusement. Chance gripped her hand into a tight ball, extinguishing them as easily as her annoyance.

"This can get very dangerous," warned Chance.

"_You_ are the dangerous factor, Chance," said Bane, "which is why this had to happen. Ace is your protector, and a very avid one. She'd die before watching anyone else try to kill you. If ever you're threatened, at the very least you can intimidate your adversaries with your new ability."

"What makes you so convinced that I'll be able to control it at all?" said Chance. "I restrain myself because it's the right thing to do. Why hold back if this serum just pulls it out of me?"

Bane patted her shoulder.

"You will learn to control it."

"But why bring this up now?" Chance pursued. "Why not four months ago? Why not seven years ago? Why not two weeks ago?" Bane looked at her intently. "If my security was a matter, wouldn't you have at least informed me that this"—she indicated the empty vial—"was hidden the entire time? Were you always intending to use me as the delivery for an heir to the League of Shadows?"

"Do not assume," said Bane, stunning Chance slightly, "that I recruited you for simple procreation. And don't think so lightly that I'm keeping secrets from you." Chance's eyes bore through his, searching for truth. He set his hands on her shoulders lightly. "Chance, do not think for one moment that I will toss you away when the child is born. You are still important."

"Important for the League," asked Chance, "or important to you?"

Bane's eyes flickered at her, from hurt and from annoyance.

"I am not a tool," said Chance warningly.

Bane's fingers heated intensely, like the growing heat on a stove; he withdrew his hands from her slowly. As expected, a simmer rose from Chance's collar bone and scapula. Bane wondered if he really had made a mistake in giving her the serum. She was quite a woman without superpowers. This might have increased her will. However, with every power came a packaged deal. A weakness was in order, and he knew what it was anyway. Countering the emotion, calming her down.

"You're annoyed at me," Bane told her knowingly.

Chance's reddening skin cooled. She simply sighed.

"Bane," she said, "I know that you want protection for me, and it's admirable. It really is. But I get exhausted when I'm flanked by body guards. They are always around me, always waiting. Just standing there, it's very irritating. I'm not a princess or a duke, or an empress . Years ago, they wouldn't have flinched if you smacked me across the face, but now when a simple citizen approaches me, I'm the queen of England."

"I know that you can handle your own, Chance," said Bane gently.

"Then why have these people watch my every move?" retorted Chance, indicating the luxury of mercenaries staged at every door. "Bane, they're even here when I'm with _you_."

"Do you want to know your sole purpose in the League?"

"I know my purpose," said Chance. "I'm not too concerned with that, really. Bane…" Chance sighed. She looked meaningfully at him. An ominous chill crept down her back.

"I don't know what it is," she said lightly. "But I've been having bad feelings. Instinctive. None of my plans that I've ever made, solo or cooperative, have ever panned out so well like this. Even with Ace, there were always loose ends."

Bane nodded; he started walking out the door toward the kangaroo court's location,

"Then let's tie up the loose ends."


	34. The Fires Rise

City in Pieces II

Chapter Thirty-Four: The Fires Rise

The unnerved feeling of something happening that wasn't beneficial to their cause was not part of Chance's paranoid assumption. Barsad burst through the City Hall doors with such a display of urgency that Bane halted his forwarding stride and glanced at him with some concern. Barsad never showed much dismay, but he appeared to be a tad rambunctious—out of the place. Chance observed him in her sized up military fatigues. (Due to the baby's growth, Chance's attire needed more space to allow her breathing room, but it covered the evidence that she was pregnant. No body needed to know that she had a weakness, not like this one.) Barsad approached Bane quickly in a fast walk, holding a loaded rifle in his arms. He was quick to explain the situation.

"Sir," he prompted, "three civilians attempted to contact the pentagon."

Chance's eyebrow rose when Bane glanced at her. She was right to assume that something had been strange. As she had said before, and many times was right about it, not everything went according to plan.

She approached Barsad, who gave her a tender look, only for the sole purpose that, within her body, she bore the next in line. Perhaps he was considering that due to her—what many were calling it now—her 'condition', she shouldn't be part of the scheme anymore. However, Bane gestured for Barsad to continue. Since Chance had the necessary fire power, she was more than significant to the situation. Although she could very well be the last person to bear a witness to the next League of the era, Bane hadn't trained her for all these years to simply sit around and roast marshmallows.

"Civilians, you say," Bane stated, a word for Barsad to push forward.

He did without much of another hesitation.

"An FBI agent, Sir, named Jones, and two others. Fox, from Applied Sciences, and Talia."

"Talia's not part of the problem; she's play along," said Bane dismissively, assuring Chance's captain that the plan was still in progress. "Once more, these are simply loose ends. I understand that they're trying to find a way out, but this will be met with a negative consequence."

"There is another issue at hand, Sir," continued Barsad patiently.

"Which is…?"

"The FBI agent knows it's a time bomb. He'll try to warn the people."

Chance intervened,

"We didn't do all of this for the entire plan to be beaten into the ground," she said vehemently. A roaring growl that emitted from her was followed by loud, firecracker-like sparks to pop out of her fingertips. She paid no heed to it; Chance already assumed that this was going to be a likely occurrence if she couldn't hide her anger anymore. Barsad, who hadn't expected fire to leave his Lieutenant, stepped back suddenly from her when the firecrackers popped, glancing at Bane with a hopeful gaze for some explanation.

"She's developed a new ability," he simply put it.

That seemed to do it for him, since Barsad glanced at Chance nervously, but then settled when she gave him a small smile. Bane patted his lover on her shoulder, calming her, though not patronizing.

"Where did you put the agent?" asked Bane considerately.

"The basement of the stock exchange. Crane's dungeon," he clarified.

"That place will be full by now. Crane's been doing his job well," said Chance honestly, looking at Bane as if to discuss dinner plans. He hadn't been updated since Ace had come to him for assistance. Chance handed Bane a list of names. "Crane's been busy. He's put away some of the worst criminals in Gotham. Stockbrokers, lawyers, executives, industrialists, and other modern-day aristocrats."

"Loose ends…" Bane muttered through his mask.

Chance set her hands on her hips.

"There is a name that hasn't been dealt justice yet." When Bane said nothing in reply, she specified, "Stryver."

"You think he deserves a traitor's death?" said Bane, glancing at her in amusement.

Chance looked at him scathingly. Bane simply wanted to see her reaction. He turned to Barsad, who was gazing at the two of them with clearly entertained manner.

From time to time, he would actually see a moment between his commanders. He always knew that they were lovers. But sometimes, they could really be very adamant to each other in unpleasant ways. It wasn't always playful banter. Bane handed Barsad the list of captives.

"These people obviously haven't been judged. It's by Crane's enforcement that they seek exile or death by hanging. Have him carry out them out. And bring out Talia and Fox."

Chance's eyes widened. _Talia?_

Barsad retreated to carry out Bane's order. Chance grabbed Bane's shoulder; he glanced at her.

"Talia? You're having him judge Talia?"

"Never mind it, Chance. It's all right."

Chance watched him walk away. She narrowed her eyes at his retreating back. Bane heard a roaring sound blow from behind him; he ducked in time to see a large fire ball fly over his head and ground a statue of a soldier into ashes. He turned around to see Chance's shoulders simmering again. A thin line of gray smoke left the tips of her pointed fingers.

Bane couldn't help but know that she was somewhat annoyed. He gave her a sarcastic tilt of his head and approached her.

"Something on your mind, dear?"

"I wonder why I am feeling as if we're somehow drifting apart, Bane." Chance stated, looking up at his towering head. "I wonder," she continued, "why you can simply put me off to the side and continue on your way. Why am I the _last _ person to know these things? What are you planning to do with Talia? What importance is she as of now? Why hasn't she become known to the world that she bears the trigger for this nuclear bomb? Why am I an outcast?"

Bane watched her fingers spark with light red and yellow, flickering candle flames. He wasn't at all frightened of her. After all these years of watching her cower beneath him, he could only see that woman who lay broken on the bed, staring at him with the same defiance that she was shooting him now. Even with her new powers, Bane could just easily kill her without as so much of being pained by a simple burn.

"You are _not_ an outcast. And you're not put in the dark," said Bane calmly. "And you can throw as many fireballs as you want at me, and I won't be afraid of you. You may tower over these people with your avarice and your reputation, but remember, Chance: I was the one who made you this way."

He grabbed her sparking fingers and bore a tight grip around her hand. Chance winced. She glared up at him.

"Are you threatening me?" she said quietly.

"You're obtaining some kind of sense that now since you're a human torch, you can stand up to me. I admire that in you, and I've always considered it to be a redeeming quality in you, but your defiance is becoming less attractive in you, and more annoying." Bane said. "Now…Stand down."

Chance sighed. Her hands went limp in his grip. He released her the moment he felt her easement. Bane raised a hand under her chin to point her eyes at him.

"You are very emotional because you are put under pressure."

His other hand fell to the baby bump.

"This is your burden," he said. "And this is why you're important. It's our heir to a legacy that has been going on for centuries. And _you_ are its protector." He paused. "Talia is an exception to the law of pulling the rich to the criminal level. We'll have Fox and the others think that she's facing a more perishable role." Do you understand?"

Chance's anger was extinguished. She nodded.

"I'm sorry that I—"

Bane raised a hand out to stop her from speaking any more.

She pursed her lips, then nodded in understanding.

Bane wrapped a hand around her waist to lead out of City Hall.

"Come. We have a trial to oversee."

Philip Stryver was as surprised to be imprisoned as the next man beside him. Daggett apparently had received the lesser sharper blunt of the blade, and now Stryver was paying the penalties of those days that he would argue with Chance and the nights that he would stay up, thinking about her. He had been impatient, angry to know that Bane had double-crossed him. His suit that had been so pristine, sleek and black, was rumpled and dirty from the dungeon that reeked of fear and desperation. He was not the only man that was not in a catatonic state; Lucius Fox tended to the fellow captives, offering a calm presence in the hellish circumstances. Fox glanced in Stryver's direction. He paid him no mind.

The executive board members of Wayne Enterprises were huddled together in the crowded prison, retreating into their own minds for solace. Fox did what he could he to assure them that the situation would resolve itself. However, he knew that he was wrong. The nuclear reactor was a time bomb; that much was for sure. Bane's revolution was a scam: nothing more than a distraction from the real issue at hand. Fox considered trying to get in contact with Bane's next in command, the Lieutenant.

He had known her real identity before she turned in a war lord, which basically was what Fox thought her to be. She wasn't this city's destiny, Fox believed. She was a puppet who was manhandled way too many times by the man who was bringing Gotham to its knees. And she couldn't stand away from him long enough to see it.

A door banged open and the mercenary's men invaded the basement. Trembling prisoners backed away, fearful that their time had come. Fox stepped protectively in front of the party of Wayne Enterprises board members. He faced them with dignity.

But the guards weren't here for Fox. Sullen eyes fell on Stryver, who found himself grabbed by the men. They held onto him roughly as they dragged him from the dungeon. He tried to squirm out of their uncomfortable grip, but the effort was fruitless. He couldn't break free.

"I want to see Bane!" he shouted, "There's been a mistake! _Take me to Bane!_"

The mercenaries ignored his protests and demands. They hauled him upstairs to the main trading floor , which served as the kangaroo court. A crowd of lowlifes and ruffians flanked a lonely chair in the middle of the floor. Beside the judge's podium was the jury, and Arkham's finest criminals occupied the juror seats. Stryver winced as several of the thugs on the floor whooped for his arrest. One of the mercenaries pushed him forward, then sat him harshly into the chair. Stryver looked up weakly from his seat,

"There's been a mistake. Where's Bane?"

"There's been no mistake, Mr. Stryver," a cool sardonic voice corrected him from the podium. Stryver looked up to the judge's bench to see Crane presiding over his trial. His face sunk.

Chance observed from the jury with scrutiny, watching that little man in the chair quail in fear at the former administer of Arkham Asylum. Stryver was less demanding of her than Daggett had always been, but he did always use Ace's imprisonment as a way of pacifying her, which was always a crime in Chance's eyes. As it was, the reminder of the few days that Stryver tormented her steamed Chance's hands; they reddened slowly. Ace, who was her nearby partner, set a hand on Chance's shoulder to stop the beckoning rise of the fire within her friend. Chance glanced at the woman who proposed that she would have this power. One hand, she was amused that Ace would care so much about her to approach Bane; on the other, it was almost traitorous to believe that Chance couldn't take care of herself. However, she released it, and Chance's hot palms cooled.

Chance could already tell that this fire issue was not going to be beneficial if she were too captured by her enemies. Even the slightest annoyance plagued her body to express it.

A slender, ascetic gentleman with a cultured voice and pale blue eyes, Crane wasn't wearing his ragged burlap "Scarecrow" mask at the moment, but that was a small consolation to the frightened prisoner in the dock. Crane was infamous for his obsession with instilling fear into others.

"You are Philip Stryver?" Crane asked, no doubt reviewing the information on a sheet of paper. Chance had handed it to him a few hours ago. "Executive vice president of Daggett Industries?"

Stryver nodded cautiously. He threw a glance to the jury to notice that Bane's Lieutenant, Chance, was among them. Ace, of course, was close by. He hoped that she would take his case, since she knew the law very well after three years of working alongside a demented Two-Face. However, she showed no sign of coming to his defense. If anything, she looked as if she might hand him a death penalty herself.

"The same Philip," continued Crane, "who for years has lived like a prince off the blood and sweat of people less powerful?"

Ace interjected,

"The same!" she called out to the public.

The crowd agreed with her proclamation. Crane didn't begrudge her the outburst. Everyone in the room despised the man that was seated in the chair.

"Call Bane!" he insisted. Crane gave him a look. He glanced beside him to look at Chance, whose eyes were drawn to Stryver with much dislike. Crane knew that she wouldn't interrupt the trial. "I'm one of you!"

Stryver spotted the masked man watching from the gallery. He showed no intention of intervening in the commotion. Stryver's shoulders sagged in defeat as his last hope evaporated. From across the room, Chance and Bane met eyes.

"Bane has no authority here." Crane declared. "And your guilt is self-evident. This merely a sentencing hearing." He waved his gavel languidly. "The choice is yours: death or exile. What will it be?"

"_Death!_" shouted the mob across the room. Stryver was confronted with the sea of bloodthirsty savages. People spat at him and hollered, "_DEATH!_"

Stryver gulped and choose the lesser of two evils,

"E-E-Exile."

"Sold!" Crane banged his gavel against the podium. "To the man in the cold sweat."

The crowd chortled.

Chance rose from the jury pews.

Ace took her arm.

"What are you doing?"

"If I get to do anything today," said Chance, "that might make me happy, seeing Stryver fall through that ice will do it for me."

Philip Stryver had taken only five steps before the icy-patched river swallowed him whole. Chance had watched it with no pity in her face and with disappointment. She'd have preferred to watch him hang. Chance ignored the kicking in her womb. Her child was responding to her emotions. She had the image of the baby burning alive inside of her after so many times that she had used her new ability to express her anger. Chance enjoyed the new fire in her, but at the same time, she resented the power altogether. Any slight annoyance, and irritation at all, and her hands heated to a powerful hot flash. Simmering heat could tap onto her shoulders.

Chance had some practice with it over a day or two, but she would need a brawl in order to test out her true extent of her ability. Chance considered going to a bar and starting a fight. But that situation just warranted a mistake. She, instead, decided to descend to the lower levels of the Stock Exchange to observe the lower lives of those less deserving. When she entered the room, the prisoners pushed away from her. Perhaps the news of her hot-headedness had spread even through this low ravine of men and women. She glanced at them, taking each face in turn.

The seed of Gotham's silver dollar. Trapped in a room.

She observed them with slight disdain.

"I wonder," Chance sneered to the crowd, "how exactly you thought that you could live so large, so wealthily, without sending a little of your payment to those who truly suffered." No one answered her. Lucius Fox watched from the sidelines. He was observing her. She met his eyes briefly and turned to the rest of them.

Chance paced the floor. She bent down to pick up a tattered cloth from what she assumed was a little black dress.

"All of you spend your wealth on the smallest things that shouldn't matter: dresses, fine suits; luxury cars like limousines, Corvettes, Ferraris, and Lamborghinis; managing to find every buffet down the line and fatten up yourselves until you can't fit the very standards that you set up for your future children." Chance turned to the crowd. She held the dress cloth in her hand. It vanished in a _vroosh _in a sphere of flames. The crowd gasped, stepping away from her. Chance held the pile of ash in her palm.

"You see? That's what all your money turns to in the end," said Chance. Her voice was calm and collected, but obviously, her anger was bubbling under the surface. "All your gifts and luxuries go to the dump, deplete of your usage, wet with your sweat and avarice. And do you know who gets your _shit_?" She turned to the huddled prisoners with blazing eyes. "Us. The ones who dabble in the puddle of pennies left on the floor, struggling to survive."

Chance approached a man who was balding, but it was apparent that he wore a fake piece upon his head. He wore a monocle on one eye. He wore a three piece suit, slick and tall with black and white attire and flats.

"What makes you so much greater than those who stand against those doors, hm?" she indicated the mercenaries guarding the exit that had escorted her inside. "What puts you on your pedestal? What birth right gives you any privilege over those who have wasted their lives trying to be in your shoes _that you quiver in now_?"

The man in front of her shook, frightened. He stepped back from her, attempting to escape her fury. Chance pointed a finger and shot a fiery zap at his heels, ceasing his pace. He ducked immediately, falling to her feet in evident torment.

"Look at what you are, you little man," Chance scorned. "You sit on the lap of the social elite, and you can't even stand up to me. On your feet."

He raised his head to glance at her. Chance's shoulders burst into flames abruptly as she yelled at him,

"_On your feet, I said!_"

The man cried out in dismay and huddled his face in his arms. The crowd around her yelled in terror at the blazing of Chance's fury. The fires along her shoulders and collar bone crackled angrily; she took each startled image in turn.

Fox stared at her. Every time Chance had displayed herself before the Gotham's mass, she was always so calm, and never had she ever burst in flames when someone simply cowered in front of her. Chance gripped her fists, trying to calm herself.

"What puts you all," she said, "better than the rest of us? What makes you think that you can simply waste all your inheritance on things that don't matter? What _makes you better_? Huh? WHAT IS IT?"

Chance's hand ignited like torches, illuminating the entire room.

"_Chance."_

Chance turned to see Ace who was flanked by the mercenary guards. She glared at Ace irritably. Ace set her hands on her hips, standing there with dissatisfaction.

"What do you want?" Chance snapped at her. The flames vanished from Chance's hands, though the blaze still popped on her shoulders. It didn't ignite the hair on her head. Instead, Chance's blonde locks tinged red, igniting with the rest of the line of fire. Ace stared at her hot-headed friend in slight amusement; on the other hand, she was surprised to see how she was like a human torch now.

"Chance," said Ace patiently. "They've got Gordon."

Chance's fires extinguished. Steam thinned from her clothes. The tips of Chance's hair that had been ignited were doused with her surprise. Ace took Chance's hand and led her out of the basement.

Ace continued, now that she was not being overheard by the crowd,

"Chance, Commissioner Gordon and some of his cops were caught. Talia was with them, along with an FBI agent named Jones. They managed to locate one the trucks; they won't say anything more."

Chance pushed back her hair, sweating from the immense humidity. She sighed.

"Then I'm guessing we should get to the court house." Chance muttered.

Ace set a hand on her shoulder. She withdrew it carefully.

"You're piping hot." Ace said in resolve. "Are you going to be all right?"

"No," said Chance honestly. She pushed pass Ace. "Come on."

Ace took Chance's arm. She turned.

"Chance."

"_What?_" she snapped. The annoying roar of a fire about to blaze sounded—Ace didn't react when minor sparks sprouted out from underneath her gripping palm. The burns caught Ace's fingers. Chance glanced at her hand then to Ace's eyes.

"You need to calm down." Ace said warningly.

"I have always been calm. I can't stop this"—the sparks popped from her fingers—"from happening. It's an occurrence when I get angry. I _can't_ calm down. It's annoying as hell. For my protection, Bane could've just used you. No, instead I'm—"

Ace released Chance.

"_I _went to Bane," said Ace insistently. "Iwas the one that showed concern. Chance, you needed to be guarded. If anyone finds out that you're with child, they'll use that weakness against you! I know it!" she said, approached her best friend. "I know they will! I would have used this against you if were still enemies."

Chance stared at her.

"You and Bane call this baby a thing in the world, something to take your place when you two are gone. It's a love child, no matter what name you call it, no matter how many times that you deny that it's special. I've ripped unborn children from their mothers. It hurts any way," specified Ace. "You couldn't even stand to kill a child on your own. How do you expect that this will turn out if you're responsible for a miscarriage?"

Ace stepped over the line. Chance produced a blazing fireball in her hand and shot it at her. It made contact with Ace's stomach, and she was sent pelting across a sheet of black ice. Chance, realizing what she had done, ran over to Ace regretfully, a rueful look on her face. Ace sat up. She has ashes on her body, but it didn't look like she took much harm.

Ace looked at her.

"Are you calm now?"

Chance's regret had doused her anger, for she helped Ace to her feet. The snowy cold put out the smoke from her hands and shoulders. Ace grabbed her hand to pull her into the courthouse. Chance didn't wrestle her fingers out of her grip. She was far too winded too fight her.


	35. Aggravated Assault

City in Pieces II

Chapter Thirty-Five: Aggravated Assault

Gordon, Miranda, and the other cops were on "trial" before Jonathan Crane of all people. A mob of hoods, mercs, and escaped prisoners—many of whom Gordon was personally responsible for putting behind bars—crowded the former stock exchange, hooting and hollering at the disgusting spectacle. Bane himself watched from the upper gallery. Gordon repressed a shudder at the sight of the masked madman who was close to destroying Gotham. Gordon's eyes looked along the jury, recognizing the prisoners of Arkham, and as all the other victims of this plot might have done before, Gordon's eyes fell upon the only woman wearing Marine fatigues. He could spot those eyes from a distance if he had to do so. Gordon wondered if Chance was still appreciating the new regime, though her face seemed less devilish now that he was on the stand.

Gordon noticed that her hair color was tinged. There was abnormal warmth in the air, though he was only a little convinced that it could be anything but him, knowing his fate. Miranda Tate, of course, stood close beside Gordon, gazing at the other hoodlums on the floor. Her eyes met Bane's, and then fluttered to Chance, who also looked at her from the balcony.

Jonathan Crane banged his gavel to silence the crowd.

"The charges are espionage and attempted sabotage," Crane declared with an undisguised smirk. "Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Ace's voice could be heard around the room in response,

"As if it's any help now!"

Joker's laugh followed.

Gordon glanced in the general direction with a scowl. He turned to Crane, whom he thought belong in a strait jacket rather than a judge's robes. Gordon knew that Ace was enjoying the role-reversal. Gordon glanced up to the crowd to see Chance once more. Her gaze was nearly catatonic.

"No lawyer," said Gordon, "no witnesses? What sort of due process is this?"

"More than you gave Harvey's prisoners, Commissioner."

There was agreement all around the room.

"Your guilt has been determined. This is merely a sentencing hearing. What's it to be, Commissioner? Death or exile?"

By now, the entire city knew that both choices would lead to a cease in all existence. Really, at what point did this even matter?

"Crane, if you think that we're going willingly out onto that ice, you've got another thing coming."

The psychiatric judge waved away Gordon's insolence.

"Death, then?"

Gordon wasn't about to plead for his life, Chance knew, as she watched the brave soldier give Crane a sardonic look. She admitted admiration for him. Twenty years…Thirty years…It was quite a long haul for him. Gordon glanced at Miranda furtively; he was hoping that her life might be spared.

"Looks that way." Gordon resigned.

"Very well. Death," Crane said, and then he smiled, "by exile."

The crowd roared with applause as he banged his gavel once in finality. Then a hush fell across the room as Bane stepped forward. Crane glanced toward him. Chance watched Bane signal one of his men to the middle of the room.

"Bring her to me," he said, indicating Miranda.

As Talia made her way up to the gallery, Chance turned to Ace quietly.

"The bomb is due to go off soon, Ace," informed Chance. "It's set to go off today."

Ace's eyes widened. It seemed as if yesterday, it had been only three months. This day had finally arrived, though Ace had been counting on an intervention by a long-gone Batman, but the caped crusader hadn't shown his face since the Stock Exchange. Ace glanced behind them at Talia and Bane, who were in the middle of a discussion, probably as intense as the one they were having. Ace turned back to Chance, who was giving Ace an enduring look.

"I promised," explained Chance, "that I would warn you of the impending explosion from the detonation. We have only hours."

Ace looked at her boldly.

"The bomb is going to go off today? I thought we have a day or two left. There are so many things I want to do…" Ace muttered. "Chance…"

"I'm not saying that you have to leave. Things have changed since you've been in Black Gate, and I don't intend to think that you were set on leaving."

"Bane's got me as your protector." Ace shrugged. "Besides, I always wanted to go out with a bang."

Chance started to say something, but Bane approached from behind. He glanced at Ace then to his lieutenant.

"We have to get ready." Bane told her.

Ace, Bane, Chance, and Talia strode the streets of Gotham, heading back from the courtroom to headquarters in City Hall. This was the last time that they expected to walk this route. Everything was in place. After so many months, the culmination of Bane's plans was less than a day away. Soon Gotham would see its last dawn—and the legacy of Ra's al Ghul would be fulfilled at last. Bane hoped that Wayne was enjoying the show. Ace approached Chance with a grin on her face.

"Chance."

"Hm?"

Chance glanced at her friend, who was smirking too widely, staring up at the skyscrapers.

"You should be the one," she whispered, "to inform your baby daddy that your _plan_," her accent transformed into Joker, "has been turned on itself."

Chance gave her questionable look, then she followed Ace's gaze. Chance stopped Bane from walking any further.

"Sir?"

Bane halted, hearing the tone in his lieutenant's voice. He turned to follow Ace and Chance's gaze to see a burning sign of a bat burning brightly on a building on the other side of the river. Talia appeared by Ace's side, watching flames on the building tease.

"You think it's really him?" asked Ace curiously, a hand on one of her curvy hips.

"Impossible…" Bane muttered.

Under three hours, Chance was a woman with fire coming out of her hands. Ace watched her pyrokinetic friend with a bored expression on her face, not at all phased by her superpower. All Ace knew was that she handled heavier fire power in the past, and Chance's sudden new ability was not something of an issue. However, Chance had a right to be irritated at the matters at hand.

"They're ruining _everything!_" Chance roared furiously. A burst of flames recoiled from her fingertips, charring the marble floor beneath her feet. Ace sat down on the desk in City Hall, arms crossed. "In _three_ hours, my plans, my strategies have been _destroyed!_"

"Hey, you still have this bomb, don't you?" said Ace decisively, "That plan is still in the making."

Chance turned to her.

"In only a few hours, Batman has come back, and I know it's his doing! The cops have been freed from that dungeon! They're out and about! They're a whole army."

"Well, you couldn't have expected that Bats would stay at bay…"

"He _wasn't_ at bay!" Chance yelled angrily, approaching Ace, who handed Chance a reproachful look. "He wasn't given a flesh wound; Bane broke him. Bane broke his back and sent him to continent miles away from here! Miles, Ace! _Africa!_" Chance was steaming on her shoulders. "Ace, he was a broken shell of a man who was watching his hometown be annihilated before his very eyes. How has he come back?"

"Stop screaming at me." Ace said dangerously.

Chance looked at her, annoyed.

"You told me that Batman wasn't part of the problem anymore." Ace reminded her. "You said he wasn't going to intervene."

"I was certain that this plan was fool-proof." Chance argued. She paced back and forth. "I watched Bane myself. I saw him break Batman's back. I saw it. He could barely move. Now you tell me, Ace, how a man who has no spine was able to climb out of a stone pit, and _walk_ several thousands of miles back and ruin a plan"—Chance was in Ace's face—"that I had been perfecting for _seventeen_ years!"

Ace pushed Chance away from her.

"I don't know how he was able to recover, Chance, but it looks like your arrogance has gotten the better of you again—you and Bane. You've obviously mistaken again and underestimated what he can do!" Ace said firmly to a very aggravated Chance. Ace pointed outside to the rising dawn. "He is freeing those who have imprisoned by you, by us. And they'll fight to take control of their city, just like Bane said. Everyone knows that he was lying, Chance. You think they'll just sit back and take it?"

"Yes, until the bomb turned everyone into dust!" Chance retorted, igniting flames along her arms.

Ace, exhausted from being Chance's match, took a nearby cup of water and splashed it in Chance's face, extinguishing her almost immediately. Chance wiped water from her mouth, staring at Ace in slight surprise.

"Stop lighting up like a torch, Chance. It gets desperately hot when you do that!" Ace said, clearly annoyed.

Chance crossed the deck of City Hall to peer out the window. Even as they argued, an army of uniformed officers were only a mile away, walking toward them to declare war upon the League of Shadows. Chance turned to Ace, who was also gazing out the window. She smiled.

"Well, my friend," said Chance lightly, "it looks like we're going out with a bang after all. I have to get Bane."

"I surely recommend that you do." Ace muttered. From within her sleeves, Ace whipped out two very sharp long knives. Ace smirked at Chance. "You better get him fast, too. War is upon us."


	36. War on Gotham

City in Pieces II

Chapter Thirty-Six: War on Gotham

Dawn rose on Gotham City. A heavy snow was beginning to fall from the sky as an army of cops, over a thousand strong, marched on City Hall, ready to take back their city or die trying. They stomped through the snow, past abandoned store windows and newsstands. SWAT teams in black helmets and combat armor marched shoulder to shoulder with beat cops and detectives, a united nation. They were no longer hiding, nor wanted to remain trapped any longer. Batman's sign had given them hope. They wanted Bane to know that they were coming.

But Bane had his own army. Bane gazed over the city limits to see the approaching army of Gotham. By his side stood Chance, pregnant and her hands ablaze with ready fire. In her belt were pistols; along her ankles were strap-on knives, sheathed in holsters. Her hair, now completely red from her argument with Ace, was pulled up in a long ponytail. An angry look was in her eyes. Beside Chance stood her protector, Ace, holding long knives in her gloved hands, watching the oncoming adversary with that smile on her face. Her desire for carnage would be quenched. As an added bonus, Ace had recruited the Arkham's finest.

Joker, Ivy, Harley, Penguin, and Crane flanked the City Hall steps, standing beside Ace like a second battalion. Chance and Ace exchanged glances before turning their eyes back to the battlefield.

Hundreds of armed mercenaries poured out of City Hall and the surrounding buildings, forming the opposing line. They brandished their weapons and taunted the approaching cops. The clamor and echoes of thousands of angry shouts drowned out the howling wind. Shots were fired into the air. Bane had claimed City Hall as headquarters, and his army certainly was going to surrender it without a fight.

The armies faced off on Grand Street. Their numbers appeared evenly matched—that was until three tumblers pulled onto the Grand in front of the cops. They turned their gun turrets toward the advancing blue army. A loudspeaker blared at the police,

"DISPERSED OR BE FIRED UPON."

The cops regarded the tumblers apprehensively. Faces that hadn't seen the daylight paled. But they continued to march. Ace leaned in to Chance.

"How many tumblers does it take to eliminate a whole army of cops?" she asked.

"Is this one of your stupid jokes that you got from Joker?"

Joker glanced at Chance with a smirk.

Ace said nothing in return, merely smiling pleasantly.

Bane watched the police approach from the atop the building's wide stone steps. He breathed deeply, inhaling the gas that kept his endless pain at bay. His brow furrowed. It seemed that the city's defenders were not going to let Gotham perish without one last, futile attempt at resistance. He gave the order.

"Open fire."

His order was communicated to the tumblers, which unleashed their cannons on the blue army. Unlucky officers were blasted into the air. Ace whistled, impressed, as the bodies were thrashed. Screaming officers crashed onto the street, turning fresh snow red. Maimed bodies writhed upon the ground. The line began to fall apart. The survivors started to rethink their foolishness.

Bane expected them to break the line; however, from the sky, the Bat came swooping over the street. Its own cannons took out the tumblers, blasting them into metal pieces. Ace and Chance ducked immediately as the pieces flew through the air at them. The armored vehicles flipped over onto their sides, smashing down on the sidewalks. Smoke and flames rose from the mangled metal. Their wheels spun uselessly in the air. Bane frowned behind his mask, glaring up at the sky as the Bat rose over the army of cops, providing air support and encouragement.

Cheering, the police rallied and charged. Gunfire erupted as the armies opened fire on each other, while opposing lines rushed toward their inevitable collisions.

Chance and Ace jumped into the war, just like old times. Ace's reputation once more proved to be accurate; her swords were slick with blood in only a few seconds, slicing and dicing her opponents across the chests, stomachs, and legs. Many officers targeted her with anger and sustenance. Her death would avenge about the entire city's morality rates. Ace was glowing the entire time. She disarmed Officer Ross, who headed straight for her heart. Ace's own knife splintered through his nightstick and sunk deep into chest cavity. He gasped, staring in her eyes. Aces grabbed his head, bent his neck back, and tucked her second sword into his throat. The pointed end slipped out on the other side briefly; blood splattered her face. That smile glimmered on her mouth with satisfaction. Officer Murphy and Officer Stevens approached her from behind. They caught her by her knees, tripping her to the floor.

They took out pocket blades from their jeans. Murphy took a knife to Ace's shoulder. Ace grunted at the useless pain. She slapped his hand away. Stevens held her down. Then as Murphy was about to end the murderer's reign of blood, a _bang _flag slipped through Murphy's officer uniform. He gasped and fell down. Joker kicked away his dead body. He punched the second officer in the face and helped Ace. A crowd of SWAT members charged at Joker and Ace. A trickled light flashed and suddenly, six of the members were lit on fire, rolling on the snow, burning alive. Chance approached them. She took out a knife, and then slit their throats for equal measure.

Bodies hit the snow. Gunfire gave way to hand-to-hand combat as thousands of cops and criminals mixed and fought in close quarters. A multitude of shouts and grunts and curses added to the fiasco, a deafening tumult. Knives flashed, drawing blood. Fists bludgeoned unexpected faces—a mash pit for the well-endowed.

Grand Street turned into a wide, snowy melee as the battle for Gotham spilled over onto the steps and sidewalks.

Harley and Ivy tossed several officers into an abandoned shop and beat them until they were finished. Penguin battled alongside several of Bane's mercenaries. Ace and Chance threw themselves into the tumult. Chance's fires died out: her anger was no longer her wish to fight. Now it was just too fun. Ace and Chance, back to back, made their way through the crowd, using their skills to the best affect. Ace maneuvered a hand stand and performed a merry-go-round kick off, slapping assaulting policemen in their jaws, knocking out teeth and shattering mandibles. Chance broke fingers and wrists and jabbed several throats, sending men to their knees, gasping for air. An officer grabbed Ace from behind. Ace retrieved a knife hidden in her bosom, flicked out the blade, and shoved the knife between his legs. A scream deafened Ace's ears and he collapsed to the snowy ground in agony. Blood ran through his hands.

Female officers shrieked, writhing a few feet from Crane, though they showed no apparent harm. Ace cackled, knowing very well that Crane might have induced their minds with his fear toxin. Friends of the females on the floor assaulted Crane and started beating on him with night sticks. Ace and Chance plowed them away from Crane in a duo clothesline, removing Crane's tormentors in one blow. Chance helped him to his feet. Blood was seeping from his mask.

"I knew you cared," he stated humorously.

Chance shoved the handle of a spare knife into his hand.

"Shut up and fight." Chance said with a grin.

Chance searched the crowd for Bane. Where was he?

From afar, the Bat fell back and descended to the street behind ranks of the cops. Bane glimpsed a caped figure emerging from the cockpit. Bane disrobed the coat from his figure to head straight toward the black armored disguise of Batman.

Bane waded through the battle, knocking away those who didn't matter. Thousands of men and women grappled around him, fighting for the control of a city that would soon be nothing but a radioactive crater. Random bodies got in his way, and he brutally knocked them aside. A uniformed officer exchanging blows with Ivy had the misfortune of being in Bane's path. He snapped the officer's neck in a single blow, and then he tossed him aside. Ivy joined the fight with Harley. Bane trampled over fallen bodies, either alive or otherwise.

Ace peeled away a man's face with a swipe of her long knife and shoved the officer from her. She spotted Batman in the frenzy. Ace exposed brilliantly white teeth with decadent excitement as she somersaulted over a fighting pair of criminal man versus female cop; the girl was winning. Ace dodged one of Batman's flinging blows and smacked him clear across the side of his exposed cheek. The blow shocked him for a second before realizing that he was up against one of Gotham's reasons for being known as the most unsafe city in the limits. Ace pocketed her knives.

"Hey, big guy," she cooed, "I was wondering when you were going to come back for me."

Batman dodged one of her punches and caught her balled fist in his hand. He pulled her close to meet her eyes.

"Whenever are you going to learn that this life isn't meant for a woman of your talents?"

Ace smirked and punched him in the gut.

"I'm sorry, Bats, but your style is too fixed."

He grunted. Batman smacked her across the face. She laughed slightly, winded.

"Is that more your style?" he retorted.

"You made a funny," chuckled Ace, wiping blood from her lips. "Let's see how many more jokes are in that you skull of yours."

She jumped high and wrapped her legs around his neck; Ace sent him to the ground, head first into a pile of snow. Ace rose to her feet. Batman grabbed her leg and pulled. She fell back to the snow.

"You can always try rehab." Batman told her.

"Why? That takes the fun out of everything." Ace replied. She looked over his shoulder to see a large figure approaching. "Ooh, and speaking of fun, you might want to turn around."

Batman turned to see Bane approaching him. Ace peeled off, searching for Chance.

"You came back," said Bane, "to die with your city."

"No," Batman said. "I came back to stop you."

Seeing no point in further banter, Bane lunged, throwing powerful blows to the Dark Knight's cowl. He had smashed that head gear once. He could do it again. This time, he wouldn't stop until Bruce Wayne's body was a mangled corpse in the blood-stained snow.

Batman seemed to have learned a lesson, ducking and weaving Bane's worst blows. Batman started throwing surgical jabs at Bane's side. A rabbit punch to his solar plexus; an elbow to the ribs. Bane absorbed the blows stoically. Bane related Batman's fighting to Chance's assault on him the first time. He was no stranger to pain.

Chance's pregnancy was at risk as she was encircled by five SWAT team members, armed with loaded machine guns. Ace came running into the circle and stabbed an unsuspecting agent in his mouth, pinning the poor man into the ground. A fellow friend of the finished agent shot off a bullet into Ace's stabbing arm. Ace shrieked in pain. Chance's fear of death vanished into anger as Ace's blood tainted the white snow beside her. The four live SWAT members were blown away by strong, painful blasts of red and yellow. An oncoming citizen of Gotham held a shard of glass to harm Chance; Ace grabbed the citizen's hand, broke his wrist, and slammed that piece of glass into his neck. The citizen gurgled blood and fell to the ground with the dead SWAT member.

Chance hurried to Ace's arm—but Ace pulled it away.

"Never mind it. I've been shot before. It's the shock that hurts. Bane's fight Batman."

"He'll want him to himself," Chance said.

"No, I'm not interested in helping," Ace admitted. Chance watched her rip off some of her shirt to wrap the bullet wound aggressively. Ace glared at Chance. "I want to find that traitor."

"Stryver's dead," Chance said swiftly.

"No," Ace corrected, "that bitch who dresses up like a cat."

Chance smirked.

Catwoman, somewhere, would have joined the fray by now.

"Come on, we'll find her." Chance said swiftly, taking Ace's arm.


	37. Everything Good Must End

Author's Note: _Alas, all good thing must end. This is the last story that will revolve around Chance and Bane, but isn't the last story of Chance and Ace. I hope all of you have enjoyed the journey from Two Heads About Everything to City in Pieces to this installment. I'll be making a fourth sequel. Thank you for all your reviews! Read on! :D_

City in Pieces II

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Everything Good Must End

Chance and Ace's pursuit of Catwoman was halted as several mercenaries were blown away by oncoming SWAT team members. Chance watched her best men fall to the ground. Whiskey and Butch fell to the snowy terrain. Bullets were implanted in their chests. Chance's stomach dropped at the site of their mangled bodies on the ground. String and Wick's bodies were flung into the stairs; their bones cracking against the rail bars. Chance screamed angrily as she watched her trained men die before her eyes. Chance inhaled deeply and blew out a torch fire from her mouth, sending every shooter to the ground, ducking her burning ray. Ace, realizing Chance's fury, abandoned the mission to find Catwoman. She went searching for Joker. Chance put the SWAT members at bay and hurried to the steps to look upon the dead mercenaries. Chance fell to her knees in the snow, steadied herself at Whiskey's corpse. Chance looked around. The cops were fighting rougher, dirtier, and more recklessly than any fight she had ever seen before.

Chance's fury toward the deaths of her soldiers was growing.

The battle raged on in the streets. Cops fought with cons and mercs, vying for control of Gotham, while Batman and Bane remained locked in combat on the steps of City Hall. Both men intent on victory.

Defeat was unthinkable.

Batman hurled rapid-fire punches and kicks at Bane, delivering them with every ounce of strength and skill he could muster. He didn't bother with threats or tricks or theatrics. Bane knew all the secrets of the League of Shadows. He wouldn't be intimidated by the ominous guise of the Batman, either—and he would not stop until he had broken his foe again. One way or another, this would be their final contest.

A blinding-fast volley of strikes drove Bane back. Batman lunged to press his advantage, only to have a cameo-colored tumbler roar between them, momentarily cutting him off. Snarling, Batman dodged around the armored vehicle and lunged himself at Bane, who stood before City Hall's wide front doors.

Chance produced a torch from her hand and shot a blast in front of her—it took out several people. She tried searching for Bane. _Where was he?_ Chance took the knife from her belt and hacked her way through the forest of bodies, slashing the men and women in her way. Several bodies fell to the ground as she passed. Chance spotted Batman from afar, and he was quarreling with Bane on the steps of City Hall.

Chance winced as Batman threw punches at Bane's mask. It started to break through; Bane grunted as Batman's blows made contact with the tubes of his mask. Despite the peril of her pregnancy, she needed to help him. Batman drew back a fist and punched Bane's mask so hard that a tube came loose. Bane groaned. Chance's stomach lurched, knowing that the pain medication wasn't coming to Bane's nerves anymore. Chance came up from behind Batman. She ceased his heaving fist and wrapped her arms around Batman's neck. He gasped at the sudden presence behind her. Bane tried fixing his mask, however Batman hit him again. Bane grabbed Batman maliciously and jabbed at him maliciously. Batman threw Chance off him. She landed on the floor. Chance held her stomach, feeling pain.

Batman slammed into his foe, smashing him backward through the doors of City Hall and into the building's elegant lobby. Chance looked up to see the glass shatter into the room. Chance turned on her back just in time to see an officer try to stab her; Chance took his head and snapped his neck. His limp body fell on top of her; she pushed him off. Chance rose to her feet, holding her belly and stepped through the broken doors. Ace appeared by Chance's side.

"Get him…Ace…" Chance breathed.

Ace administered a look of concern at Chance's stomach.

"Don't worry about it. Get him off Bane…" Chance whimpered.

Ace glanced at Batman's flogging at Bane on the floor.

Batman pounded into him against the marble tiles. Ace jumped on Batman's back to pull him off Bane. Batman took Ace's back of her shirt and tossed her away. Chance ran at Batman as well and knocked him to the floor. He pushed her away and started ramming hard on Bane on the floor.

Batman spotted Miranda standing a few yards away, surrounded by a small cadre of mercenaries. She appeared unharmed, at least for the moment. But no one would be safe until Bane was put down—and the bomb was disabled. Miranda's captors surged forward, coming to Bane and Chance's aids.

"Stay back!" Bane ordered. He punched hard into Batman's mouth, sending him away. "He's mine!"

Chance and Ace, both rendered in pain on the floor, looked up to see Bane hammer away at Batman's head with his fists. Batman went after Bane's mask again. Chance rose to her feet, limping. Ace gaze up to see her best friend weakly. Batman's blades on his forearm ripped across the breathing tubes that connected the medication to his mask. Bane bellowed in agony. Chance raced forward and grabbed Batman's arm to pull him away from Bane.

Batman dropped Bane to the floor where Bane thrashed violently, unable to defend himself against the excruciating torment. Batman clamped a hand on Bane's throat, holding him down, while using his free hand to search Bane's vest and pockets.

"Where's the trigger?" Batman roared.

"Get away from him!" Chance yelled at Batman, wrapping her hands around Batman's neck. He hit her in the face, sending Chance to the floor beside him. Chance rose to her feet to pull him away.

"WHERE'S THE TRIGGER?" Batman screamed at Bane, punching Bane in his mask again.

Chance shot hot sparks from her fingertips. Batman had to let Bane go to avoid her new powers. He glanced at her as she tried to heal Bane, fooling with his mask. He looked at her weakly. Batman grabbed Chance by her throat.

"I am not going to play your game!" Batman yelled at her irritably. His grasp on her drew Chance away from Bane, pushing her into the floor. Chance gathered saliva in her mouth and spat in Batman's face.

"You'll have to," she gasped.

"Where's the trigger?" he yelled at her. Bane raised a hand and punched Batman away from Chance, who gasped for air.

Ace tried to crawl toward them to assist. Batman shot a batarang at Ace to impale it into wounded arm. Ace screamed in agony. Chance watched Batman achingly.

"Where's the trigger, Bane? You'd never give it to an ordinary citizen—"

Bane stared up at him through pain-soaked eyes. Chance was just at Bane's lap, looking up at Batman with anger. Too many jabs to her stomach and grabs of her throat were starting to hurt her.

"I broke you," Bane whimpered. "How have you come back?"

"You thought you were the only one who could learn the strength to escape?" Batman challenged.

Bane shook his head weakly.

"I never escaped." Bane rasped. "Ra's al Ghul rescued me. That is why I must fulfill his plan. That is why I must avenge his murder…"

Batman blinked in surprise. Chance looked at him. He didn't understand.

"But the child..The child of Ra's al Ghul…made the climb—" he began.

"But he is not the child of Ra's al Ghul," said the voice so close beside them. "_I am._"

Chance looked up to see Talia slide a blade to penetrate a joint in Batman's suit, slicing into his ribs. Talia glanced at Chance, who was bleeding from her mouth, her anger extinguished.

"And although I'm not ordinary," she said, "I _am_ a citizen…" Talia showed Batman the trigger of the nuclear bomb in her hand.

Batman, stunned, gasped as Talia's blade twisted into his ribs. He still had Bane by his throat, but the Dark Knight couldn't move to defend himself. An instant's pressure could move the blade to slice into a vital organ. Talia had Batman exactly where she wanted him. Ace held her stomach agonizingly and struggled to get to her feet. Ace grabbed Chance's shoulders and tried to pull her up. Chance rose to her feet with her help. Talia looked at them to make sure that they were still living. Chance grasped her stomach, hoping to cease some of the pain.

Batman's eyes were crushed.

"Miranda," he said, quietly pained, "why?"

"Talia," she corrected him. "My mother named me Talia before she was killed. The way I would have been killed, if not for my protector…Bane."

Her gaze turned inward as she glanced at Bane knowledgeably. Ace recognized that faint light of jealousy on Chance's face as the similar gaze between Bane and Talia connected the one with meaning and intent.

"My mother was the daughter of warlord, and she fell in love with mercenary. Her father didn't approve, and he arrested my father for his terrible crimes. My mother made a deal with him, replacing his life sentence with hers, and setting him free. Before my father left, he went searching for truth and justice. The criminals took my mother, raped her, and killed her, and they would have done the same for me, had Bane not helped me out of the pit.

"I climbed out of the pit," said Talia. "I found my father and brought him back to exact terrible vengeance, but by that time the prisoners and the doctor had done their work my friend, my protector…"

Talia's hand reached out and tenderly touched bane's damaged mask, which bore testament to the suffering that he had endured for her sake. He paid the price for her escape—and was paying it still. Memories of blood and fury cascaded behind her eyes.

"The League," continued Talia, "took us in. Trained us…Bane had an indomitable spirit, something that he proved to me long ago when he helped me leave the worst Hell on Earth, but my father, Ra's al Ghul, turned away. He could not accept Bane," she said, "He saw only a monster who could never be tamed, whose very existence was a reminder of the hell that he'd left his wife to die in."

Ace watched Chance bend down beside Bane to fix his mask. Bane's eyes left Talia to look at Chance. Ace, who had never heard the story of Gotham's Reckoning, simply listened as if being spoken to by a grand storyteller. She leaned against a nearby pillar, cradling her bullet wound in her arm, watching the story unfold with some amusement and shock.

"My father excommunicated Bane from the League of Shadows. His only crime," she said, shifting her eyes from Bane to Batman, "was that he loved me. I could not truly forgive my father. That was until you murdered him."

Then Batman spoke,

"He was trying to kill millions of innocent people—"

She cut him off, twisting the blade in his abdomen,

"Everyone in this room knows that _innocent_ is a strong word to through Gotham." She scoffed. "I honor my father by finished his work. Vengeance against the man who killed him is reward for my patience.

"You see, it's the slow knife…the knife that takes its time, _years_ without forgetting. That's the knife that cuts _deepest_."

Chance and Ace exchanged intrigued glances. Neither of them had seen Talia bear a steel gaze like she bore now. Talia armed the trigger device in her other hand.

"Wait…" Batman pleaded.

Talia pressed the firing button.

Nothing happened.

Ace helped Chance to her feet.

"What's happened?" she asked curiously. Ace knew something was wrong. No blast. No bodies flying. And that look on Chance's face proved it.

Talia stared at the useless device in her hand.

"The signal was jammed," Chance concluded from quick analysis of the situation. Ace, Chance, and Talia turned to Batman, knowing fully well that he had something to do with it.

"Your knife may have been _too_ slow," he taunted them.

Talia pulled the knife out of Batman's belly and rose to her feet. She turned to Chance.

"The truck's under attack," she said. "Gordon had been tracking the trucks." She glanced at Batman furiously. "Batman gave him a way to block my signal. No matter. He's bought Gotham eleven minutes."

The mercenaries that had been guarding the once known Miranda Tate staggered toward her from City Hall.

"Prepare a convoy," she ordered, "we have to secure the bomb until it detonates."

Talia turned to Ace.

"I'm relieving you of your duty as Chance's protector. You no longer need to help her fight. She needs to get out of this city before the bomb goes off. She's the up bringer for the heir."

"I know that," said Ace, straightening.

"You need to get out as well," Talia told her seriously. She set a hand on Ace's shoulder. "You may be a criminal, but you don't pose a threat against us."

Bane pushed Batman's body away from him. Batman grunted as he hit the floor. Bane took a shotgun and took aim at Batman.

Talia lowered the barrel.

"Not yet," she said. "I want him to feel the heat. Feel the fire of the twelve million souls that that he failed."

Ace watched Talia set her hand gently along Bane's jaw.

"Goodbye, my friend," she said softly.

Bane nodded back at her. Ace, then, knew what was happening. Talia and Bane both knew that they would never see each other again—not in this life. The fires would devour them all. Talia gave Chance a final look, one of remembrance. Chance smiled swiftly at her. With that, Talia turned on her heel and headed for the door. Ace turned on Chance,

"Wait, you're going to leave him behind!" Ace said incredulously, staring at Chance.

Chance glanced at Bane, who returned that final gaze.

She turned to her best friend.

"We didn't come to Gotham to simply leave a plan amiss, Ace. Not every story has a happy ending."

Ace stared at her.

"But he'll die!"

Chance stared at her friend.

"Ace, you need to get me out of here. The reason why I bear the next heir is because Talia and Bane are—"

Ace interrupted her,

"Yes, I get it—they're dying for a cause, but you've been with this man for eighteen years!" A few murders, a splash of blood, and a burning school bus apparently didn't matter as much as Chance leaving her lover behind. Ace hadn't thought that Bane and Talia were performing self-sacrifice.

Bane and Chance met each other's eyes. Bane turned his shotgun back to Batman.

"You'll have to imagine the fire," he said, leveling the weapon to Batman's face. Ace shifted. "We both know…I have to kill you now."

Chance and Ace readied for the kill shot—

But an ear splitting boom shook the entire building as Batman's Batpod barreled through the wall of City Hall. Bane was blasted off his feet; his body slammed into a wall before sliding down to the floor, seemingly lifeless.

Chance turned back, a human torch now, flames crackling furiously around her. Catwoman sat astride the Batpod in the entrance of the lobby. Smoke rose from the bike cannons. Chance raised a hand and sent spirals of fire blasts in Selina's direction; but Selina clicked a button, and a missile shot into Chance's stomach, sending her in the same direction as Bane. In a swift moment, Ace raced toward Selina with intention to kill, watching her two comrades ricochet off the wall. Selina didn't have time to react as Ace jumped from in front of the bike's cannons to grab her by the neck, sending Catwoman and her to the floor.

They fought on the floor, wrestling to the death.

Batman struggled to his feet.

On the other side of the room, Chance pushed aside the dormant missile, only to feel like she was being crushed in her abdomen. Blood spilled from her stomach. Chance lifted her Marine jacket to look at patches of blood seeping through her pants. Chance already knew what happened. Her baby bled alive in her stomach. Knowing that her heir was killed, she sadly turned to Bane's body. He was breathing, but only just. His mask was shot to hell. Chance turned to see Ace screaming in fury at Selina, jabbed the woman in black as much as she could. Although Ace's blows landed on Selina's arms and legs, she couldn't target Selina's heart.

Before much was done, Batman threw a batarang and it hit Ace in her shoulder, bringing about the loudest scream from her that Chance had ever heard. She was pinned to the floor by his weapon. Batman and Catwoman wasted no time, leaving City Hall.

Ace, her face a crimson mask, reached behind her to pull the batarang out of her skin. The pointed end was sheathed deep in her muscle, it hurt to wriggle it.

Harley Quinn entered City Hall, no doubt hearing the blast. With her, she had brought Joker and Ivy to help. Upon seeing Ace, Joker and Harley rushed to her side. The batarang was still concealed in Ace's shoulder. With not even a thought, Joker wrapped a gloved hand around the pointy-eared object and pulled. Ace cried out in pain, but turned on her back see smile widely at her returning lover. He had looked better. Harley helped Ace to her feet.

Ace pulled away from Harley's helping hand and hurdled to find Chance. Ace's observation led to the knowing fact that Chance miscarried. Ace bent down beside Bane. He was bleeding profusely. Chance withdrew extra tubing from her belt, much to Ace's slight surprise, and taped what she could on Bane's mask. Chance's eyes were furious as she attempted to save the life of the man who had saved hers on too many occasions.

"When you are able to apologize to me," said Chance defiantly, "and able to thank me for saving your life"—she gave Bane a pointed look—"_then_ you have my permission to die."

She turned to Ace.

"You don't have to stay with me."

"Foolish girl," Ace said, shaking her head. "We've got eleven minutes, we have to get out."

Chance nodded. She turned to Bane, who was shaking his head at her.

Against what was meant to play out, Chance reached for Bane to help him up.

"You are not supposed to leave with anyone but yourself," said Bane to Chance.

"I thought you were dead, Bane," she retaliated, "I won't see you die again."

Joker and Ace turned toward each other.

Ace smiled at him.

"Do you want to get out of here?" she asked gently. He smiled at her.

"I think we can stay a bit longer." Joker told her. He handed her a machine gun. They turned to Chance, who gave them a final look. Ace approached her best friend.

"We're meant to be in Gotham, Chance. I can't leave him behind."

Chance nodded.

"It's not goodbye," Ace said, knowing that look in Chance's eyes. "We always meet up again in so many years. So," she cocked her gun, "I'll be seeing you later, I guess."

Ace gave Chance a one-armed hug and a swift kiss on the cheek.

"But not before I try to kill that catty bitch," said Ace with a bold smirk.

Chance heaved Bane onto her right shoulder.

"We'll clear the way out," said Ace, "find a car for you, then you and Bane can disappear."

Chance nodded. Ace turned to her small group of criminal allies.

"Let's go!" she roared.

Harley, Ace, Joker, and Ivy raced through the entrance, doing what they knew best. Bane gave Chance a disapproving look.

"For once," said Bane, "would you do…what is necessary?"

"This _is_ what is necessary," said Chance defiantly.

Chance hobbled toward the entrance of City Hall. As promised, Ace had gotten a police car from the fray and it was parked in front. From the town square, Joker and Ace could be seen laying it hard on the police. Chance pushed Bane into the passenger seat. Even as Chance pulled the car out of the side street and headed to a nearby airport, Chance already knew that Talia was trying to delay some time.

Chance fired away at airport security. Ace met her at a nearby plane, waiting to see her off.

"You don't have to do all of this," Chance informed as she pulled Bane through the door.

"Nonsense," said Ace. She turned to a control panel on the plane's body. Ace withdrew a blade and shoved the point into the control panel. The plane reacted. She overrode the communications system and security.

Chance put Bane into one of the seats. Ace leaned against the door.

"As I said before, Chance," she sighed. "It's not goodbye."

"You may not make it out alive," Chance muttered.

"Well," sighed Ace, "if I don't, I'll be having some fun in hell. If I do, well…I'll be seeing you, sweetie."

Chance nodded. Ace jumped off the mounting board from the plane, waving back to Chance as she and Joker tottered off back to the fray. Chance could hear their cackles.

Chance started up the plane. Within ten minutes, they were up in the sky. Chance turned to the window to see the Bat in the sky, heaving the nuclear bomb over the ocean. It detonated into the sea.

Chance lowered her eyes to the control systems.

Apparently Talia had not succeeded, and most likely, she was killed trying to do so.

The plan to overturn Gotham failed. Chance flew the airplane; hopefully, to some place that Bane could recovery from his injuries. Somehow, the League of Shadows would have to find a new heir. Gotham would resolve the fight as they always have, most likely sending the criminals back into hiding. Everything would return to normality. Though Chance was certain that Bane and her relationship were going to falter. But for now, only time would tell.

_END._


End file.
